


The Konungr

by eag



Series: The Vardøgr [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alien Culture, Asgard, Asgardian Loki, Brothers, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Cats, Complicated Friendships, Culture Shock, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Female Loki, Gen, Intersex Loki, Intrigue, King Loki, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki has a Genius Plan, Love, M/M, Slow Burn, Tony writes to Bruce, Vanaheimr | Vanaheim, Warriors Three - Freeform, court life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 81,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bruce is brought to Asgard, he becomes tangled in a web of intrigue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you all right?” Loki's hand cradled Bruce's head, and Bruce shivered, feeling the sudden reorientation of gravity disorienting his feet out from under him. He staggered, and Loki steadied him, a solicitous arm around his waist. 

“What...what was that...” Bruce shivered uncontrollably. Wherever this was, its temperature was nothing like a New Mexico summer; it felt like an ice box. The sudden shift in temperature was a shock to his system; he was not dressed for it, being in thin khaki trousers and a t-shirt. Loki drew his cloak around Bruce's shoulders; that helped marginally. They walked past a giant of a man, impressive in his articulated armour, who looked at them solemnly with lambent eyes.

“The Bifrost,” Loki said with a careful casualness, and he paused, as if waiting for Bruce to say something.

“Oh.” Bruce looked up at him. “I think I should be mad at you.”

“I think perhaps you should reconsider. We only recently repaired this device.”

“Right.” Bruce looked away. “Maybe it would have been better if I had actually fainted.”

“Probably,” Loki smiled. “If you like, I can help with that--”

“No thank you,” Bruce said quickly. “No. No more magic.” And then they stepped out of the golden chamber onto the crystalline path. The sky was brilliant with stars and the placid sea around them lapped at the pilings of the bridge and beyond lay a great city as if floating up toward the heavens... His breath caught. The city glowed with golden fire, pinpricks of light dotting it like stars and Bruce wondered at the alien beauty.

Bruce didn't recognize any of the constellations, but then from this point of view things would be different. He recognized nebulas, spiral whorls of galaxies, but which ones, he could not say. And even then, the names they had for these formations from Earth...those were purely arbitrary. Whatever their true names were, he could not say, though he remembered Loki telling him years ago.

“We're...closer to the stars here, aren't we?”

“Yes.” Loki tightened his grip on Bruce's shoulders, drawing him close. 

Bruce clutched at the edge of Loki's cloak, closing his eyes.

*****

It was still dark when Bruce woke. Lopt was a purring ball of heat against his chest, and for a moment he thought he was still in his bed at home in New Mexico until he shifted, moving the covers around him and the cold air seeped in. He sat up, careful not to disturb Lopt, and he wondered if the darkness had to do with the season, or if he had merely napped instead of sleeping, or if it had something to do with the orbital path of this place (was it even a planet?) and its relative position to its sun. He was alone; Loki had left him to his own devices in the bedroom, grand by any estimation though Loki assured him it was modest; after all, they were in a palace. At least this room wasn't blazened in gold like the hallways they had passed through to get here; from the little of it he saw before he fell asleep, it was draped in greens with old, tarnished silver fixtures.

As he got up out of the bed, the room lit up gently around him, a soothing glow as if a healing balm. He looked around; it was plainly decorated, but there were some things here and there; a small sword barely the length of his forearm hung on the wall, a set of tiny daggers tucked into worn leather sheaths laid out neatly on a low shelf beside a colorful stone that glowed with a faint inner light.

He picked up the stone; igneous, definitely, though he couldn't begin to guess at the composition. It was heavy for its size, and he wondered how high up on the periodic table of elements its constituent molecules were made of, or if it was comprised of an element that didn't necessarily go anywhere in the chart he could see in his mind, created by means that he could not imagine. In the past, he would have clung to the orthodoxy of the chemistry and physics that he had studied in school, but these days he knew better, or at least he thought he did. He put it back carefully.

He looked around the room again; there was a latch, was that the door? But no, it opened a closet, tucked neatly into the wall, that slid open with a faint hissing, as if perhaps pneumatically driven. He couldn't guess as to the mechanism.

“Oh.” Involuntarily, he made a sound. The neatly folded clothes smelled faintly of dried herbs and flowers, and they were of varying sizes, made for a growing child, in soft earth tones and greens. So perhaps this had been Loki's room, a boy's bedchamber. He could imagine Loki wearing them, but could not imagine how long his childhood must have been or how long ago it must have been. Millenia, perhaps? It was hard to gauge; Loki had the look of a young man, but if Bruce had to guess, Loki was about approximate in age to a late adolescent, barely an adult.

Even more reasons that it was not appropriate to be anything more than friends. Bruce closed the wardrobe, sealing away the scent of a past that meant nothing to him. 

Bruce sat on the bed and examined the clothes that he had changed into before falling asleep, a warm woolen homespun tunic in brown and a pair of loose-fitting black trousers, with a little details of green here and there, along the almost kimono-like collar and lining the sleeves. The clothes came with long woolen socks and soft-soled leather shoes, which he didn't bother wearing. He wondered; were they indoor clothes? Pajamas? Livery? Did it signify anything? Did it mark him in any way? Or was this just the style of the season, a little green to enliven things. Having seen no one but the guardian of the Bifrost since he came, he could not begin to imagine the significance; all he had ever seen Loki wear were tailored suits and his armour.

The door opened and he looked up; it was Loki, carrying a tray.

“Loki? What are you doing here? Isn't it the middle of the night?” Bruce stood up. Loki set the tray down on a low table by the bed.

“No, it's barely past the first quarter of the night.” Loki sat down beside him. “I came to see how you were doing. And to bring you dinner. You were asleep for less than an hour.”

“It felt longer.” Bruce glanced over at the tray. “Did you really bring me dinner?”

“I even waited to eat with you.” Loki smiled. The food was good and simple, freshly baked bread, cheeses, fruit, and a soupy fish stew. There were little pastries afterward, barely sweetened with honey. They ate casually, chatting about nothing in particular, and eventually Lopt came over to beg for scraps of fish and cheese, the latter she was oddly fond of. 

“You know, Loki...” Bruce sipped at a hot mug of tea; despite the warm clothes, he was still a little cold. “You know that I can't stay here, right?”

“We'll talk about it later.” Loki smiled at him warmly. “Tell me, how do you like this place so far?”

“It's impressive.” Bruce admitted. “More beautiful than I could have imagined. But I don't know why you brought me here.” He gave Loki a look. “Especially since I can't stay for long.”

“What happened to, 'I missed you so much, Loki?'” Loki teased and Bruce shook his head.

“I missed you. You know that.” Embarrassed, Bruce took a sip of his tea. It tasted like pine needles and the deep forest, and he wondered what kind of plant it came from. “Don't change the subject.”

“I brought you here because I missed you.” Loki lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He raised one hand toward the ceiling; the light dimmed, and a little spark of silver light appeared in the darkness.

“...you could have just visited.” Bruce finished his tea and set the mug aside carefully. “Like you normally do. Stay at my place, play with the cat, try to eat me out of house and home...”

“No, not anymore. I am a veritable prisoner here these days.” Loki moved his index finger around and at the direction, the little spark moved lazily around the ceiling.

“Are...are you in trouble again? Is this a problem? Am I supposed to help with this somehow? Because I'm telling you up front that anything involving space Vikings beyond making them dinner sometimes is way beyond my capacity--” 

“No, no trouble.” Loki patted the bed beside him and Bruce gave him a withering look. “Don't look at me like that. It's nothing that you would think of as trouble, unless you mean the trouble of birthright.”

“Aren't you a prince?”

“Not anymore.” Loki sighed, and Bruce looked down at him. Was Loki looking a little paler than usual? Was his face a little more hollow? 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, these days...” Loki caught his eye. “I am king of Asgard.”

“Really. How? I thought...actually, I don't know what I thought. You've never really told me anything about Asgard.”

“My father has been ill. My brother formally renounced the throne years ago and spends all his time on Midgard. Mother refuses to take the regency. I think she prefers to rule through me. So here I am, the head of state.” Loki smiled faintly to himself. “Lie down with me. I want to show you something.”

“Loki, why didn't you tell me...” But Loki didn't respond. Instead, he gave Bruce's tunic a tug, and then Bruce finally gave in and laid down. He wondered why he continued to let Loki talk him into anything and everything. “What am I supposed to be looking...oh.” 

The little spark of light gently spun in a lazy circle, and a moment later, it ignited a galaxy of sparks around it. The air above them was thick with pinpricks of light.

“Merely a toy. Something I came up with ages ago, when my mother first taught me magic.”

“Like your own personal stars...” Bruce followed the sway and spiral of the sparks, moving slowly in their own miniature orbits and elliptical paths. Centripetal force and orbital periods. Kepler and Newton. He sighed.

“Yes. I can influence the first one but after that... They tend to do what they want.” Loki reached out and one fizzled against his fingertips before burning away. “Ouch.”

“Did that really hurt?”

“Just a little.” Loki showed him the scorched tip of a finger. “I don't suggest you try it; it would burn you.”

“Why make something so dangerous?”

“Why not? Isn't it obvious?” Loki gestured expansively, and the sparks danced around his hands, almost but not quite touching him. “Because it's beautiful.”

“Sometimes you have strange ideas, Loki,” Bruce yawned. The tiny burning stars rotated in their stately waltz above him, and before he realized it, he was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Unusually, Bruce woke to full daylight. It had been a while since he had slept so soundly and so late; it probably had to do with the cooler temperatures. He never slept particularly well in the summer heat. But then again, he had no idea how long the cycle of day and night was here; perhaps the nights were shorter than nights on Earth, or perhaps there was something else at play.

He got up. Found something analogous to a bathroom and did his morning ablutions. Wondered how Asgardians took baths or showers or if scrubbing down with a basin of fresh cool water, a lump of soap, and a small rough square of cloth was the norm. He came back into the room wrapped in a loose dark robe, shivering a little, damp curls sticking to his neck.

“I suppose there's no accounting for taste...” Bruce's breath caught, hearing the strange voice, and he looked to the source. There, in the shadowed hallway just outside the open door, a carelessly elegant young man in green leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “Bruce Banner, I presume?”

“Yes. Um. Sorry, I wasn't expecting visitors...” He clutched the robe tighter around himself, unconsciously.

“Oh, that's so like him.” The man straightened up and stepped forward, bowing briskly. Bruce looked him over carefully; this was the first Asgardian he had met that was not Loki or Thor. Blond, with a rakish air about him, nothing in style or substance like Loki or Thor, but then again perhaps those two were exceptional even among Asgardians. “It's obvious he didn't warn you in advance that he was sending me. Pleased to meet you. I am Fandral, of the Warriors Three, called the Dashing. I've been asked by our mutual friend to be your companion and guide.”

“Um.” Bruce paused, thinking his words through carefully. “'Our mutual friend.' I'm sorry...do you mean Loki?”

“Oh yes, of course. Loki. He asked me to tell you that he is busy and sends his regards. 'The work of a king is never done',” Fandral said lightly, almost too casually. “That's what he has people like me for. I'm here to help you with whatever you might need. Show you around the palace, keep you out of trouble, perhaps a little introduction to court etiquette, that sort of thing.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. I could use all the help I can get,” Bruce smiled, polite.

“First order of business...you ought to dress.” Fandral looked away. “It's not the style of Asgard to go about half-naked, even if you are a mortal from Midgard. That may be the first and most basic rule; it's rather indecent to show so much skin outside of a bath or a healing chamber.” 

Bruce blinked; he was hardly indecent by any standards he knew, but then again, Asgardians. Normative cultural values. “Right. I'm sorry. Let me get dressed...”

Clothes had been laid out for him on the foot of the bed, a considerable amount, and he figured he had been given some choices in clothing, so he went for a long-sleeved gray tunic somewhere in the middle of the row. Fandral stopped him. “Wait. Start from the right.”

“You're kidding. I'm supposed to wear all this? How am I supposed to wear all this?”

“Do you require assistance?”

“Of course not, but...this is like three layers. And armour. Four layers.”

“If you want to go out in public...” Fandral shrugged.

“All right. All right...” On went the knitted leggings, then trousers that were made out of something that looked like leather but felt and flexed differently. Then a long-sleeved quilted shirt that was perhaps raw silk, then the dark gray woolen tunic he picked up on accident first, and over that, a neatly tailored vest in that leather-like material. Tough Asgardian stuff, the kind Lopt liked to scratch and chew. Bruce shook his head.

He finally reached the metallic armour and stopped. “I don't think I can do this.”

“Nonsense. He's doing you a great honor by allowing you armour.” 

“Yeah? What...what's the significance? Er, in your culture.”

Fandral came over to fit the burnished silver bracers over Bruce's forearms, shaking his head a little as he adjusted the flexible metal. “Armour is reserved for warriors, guards, and the royal family. And those lucky few sponsored by individual members of the royal family.”

“Sponsored? Is there...a system?”

“It's complicated.” Fandral stepped back. “Now the breastplate...” Stylized and highly decorative, Bruce thought it didn't seem particularly practical. Fandral picked it up with both hands carefully.

“I don't think I can do this...”

“Oh, anyone can get used to anything. Now, hold still.” Fandral placed it carefully over Bruce's head, not even stirring a hair. “There. It's not so bad, is it?”

Clever fingers went around the armor, fastening it neatly to Bruce's shoulders and chest. It was light and flexible, but had enough weight to give it some heft. All this armour was quite literally a fraction of what he was used to seeing Loki wear and even what Fandral himself was wearing. He wondered how people managed, but then again, like Fandral said, anyone could get used to anything.

“No. It's not bad. But I feel a little ridiculous. Are you sure he's not...this isn't some kind of trick, is it? A joke?”

“No. He doesn't play around with etiquette this serious. Now don't forget socks, please. And boots.”

“Right.” Bruce sat down, a little stiffly; something about the armour was keeping him from bending over deeply, as if he was corseted into all these layers of clothing. He pulled on the soft knit socks and the tall boots that came up over his calves. Everything fit extremely well.

“So...” Fandral looked him over as Bruce stood up. “Did you save his life on Midgard?”

“What? Me? No.” Bruce felt a little flustered; he had a vague memory of himself as the other guy, pounding Loki into the ground. Politely, neither of them had ever mentioned or reminded the other of the specifics of that day. “Uh. No, nothing like that. I made him dinner a few times, I guess...”

“Really.” Fandral looked at him skeptically. “Surely he didn't bring you here because of your cooking...are you a master cook on your world?”

“No.”

“Hmph. Too bad; Volstagg would probably like some pointers to his favorite cooks. Then again, Loki's not swayed so easily by food... So are you--”

“A friend. Just a friend.” Bruce stammered, embarrassed.

“Ah.”

And that sound of acknowledgment was just a little too knowing, and a little too understanding, and then Bruce had to look away, afraid that he was doing something unforgivable like blushing. “Is...there a mirror?”

“Oh, certainly.” Fandral walked over and swung open a hidden panel; there behind it was a mirror. Bruce looked himself over, adjusting his sleeves a little.

Grays and black, mostly, with flashes of green along the sharply tailored collar and the cuffs of his long sleeves, with a little bit of green padding along the vambraces. Not quite that rich gem-like green that Loki wore, not quite the deep forest green that Fandral wore. Something else, but still green. The tailoring made his waist look slimmer and the armour made his shoulders look broader. But for his puny mortal height (as Fandral towered over him the way Loki did), he could almost pass for an Asgardian, albeit one with much less polish. Bruce ran his fingers through his curly hair, trying to make it look a little less mussed as it dried.

Bruce sighed, and folded the panel back into the wall. Before he forgot, he found his reading glasses that he had salvaged from his old shirt pocket. Not having any obvious pockets to put them, he tucked them onto the collar of his high-collared tunic.

Fandral cleared his throat. “It's time.”

“Time? Time for what?”

 

Tall long-legged Fandral walked with an easy lope that was surprisingly quick; Bruce found himself half-jogging to keep up. Their steps echoed through the great halls. Fortunately, they didn't go very far; down a long hallway and down a flight of stairs or two. A few turns later, Bruce found himself in a modest antechamber.

“Catch your breath, Bruce Banner. You'll want to look your best.” Fandral ran his fingers through his blond hair, making sure that not a strand was out of place.

“I'm fine. Call me Bruce.” Though he wasn't out of breath, Bruce took a moment to take a deep calming breath. “Wait, what am I walking into exactly?”

“An ambush.” Fandral smiled to himself, faintly.

“Excuse me?”

“Don't look so worried. We're the ambushers. It's just the morning meal however and...well, you'll see. Try not to look too surprised, Loki's waiting.”

“Oh.” And before Bruce could ask any more questions, Fandral nodded to the guard at the door who opened it. They walked in to a large room with a long rectangular table set for a dozen, with all seats filled but two. Loki sat at the head, looking polite and mild-mannered as he buttered a slice of crusty bread.

“Your father...your father would have--” An older, gray-bearded man sat at Loki's right, mid-harangue, but he stopped when he saw Bruce and Fandral come in. 

“My apologies, my liege. We were a little late getting started this morning,” Fandral bowed; it was a courtly, elegant gesture, with almost a hint of sarcasm in the shoulders. Or was that something Bruce imagined?

“You're forgiven. This time. Please, sit.” Loki gestured; two seats were empty on his left-hand side, and Fandral gestured for Bruce to take the seat closest to Loki.

A murmur went around the table, and Bruce looked around as he sat down. Mostly older men, bearded and in long ornate robes. At a guess, he would have said they were councillors, noble advisors to the king. 

Servants came around to pour fresh drinks for Bruce and Fandral from slender metal vessels. Bruce looked around curiously; this meeting had the same feel as going up against his thesis committee as a graduate student; tense, serious, unpleasant, but with snacks. At least the food was better here.

“Did you sleep well?” Loki turned to Bruce, contemptuously ignoring his councillors. 

“Um. Yes. Actually, I slept quite well. You?”

“Very. Bruce, you ought to try this fruit spread, it's quite nice. Made from--”

“Loki. You may be king of Asgard, but even the king cannot disregard custom.” The graybeard glared directly at Bruce, who endeavored to look completely unphased; he had been to these kinds of meetings before. Of course there was a lot more arguing about theoretical physics, but the style was the same. Whoever this man was, he had nothing on Bruce's graduate advisor.

“And which ones are you thinking of?” Loki handed Bruce an earthenware pot of jam.

“The one where we do not bring mortals from Midgard to Asgard.”

“Surely I did no such thing.”

“Are you denying that he is from Midgard?”

“No, certainly not. You're obviously from Midgard, aren't you, Bruce?”

“Sure.” Bruce took a small sip of the drink; it was milk. He looked around the table again: serious councillors, an armoured warrior at his side, helmeted guards at the doors armed to the teeth, and a glass of warm milk with breakfast? He smiled faintly to himself.

“Are you saying then that he's not mortal?” The graybeard leaned forward, glaring at Bruce and Loki in turn.

“Oh, that I can assure you...mortal he is not.” Before Bruce could comment, Loki sat up straighter. “Now, while this is all terribly fascinating, I'm sure you all must have better things to do than linger over breakfast.” Loki waved his hand lightly. “Any matters of actual business should be brought before the throne in two hours time.”

It was obviously a dismissal, and an effective one; most everyone else began to leave immediately, and Bruce noticed that though Loki ate slowly and casually, his eyes watched the clumps of men leaving. Soon they were alone, but for the guards.

“Um. Thanks for breakfast?” Bruce shifted in his seat, and Loki caught his wrist. 

“Nonsense, you just got here. Please, eat.” Loki gave his hand a squeeze.

“It looks like we weren't too late.” Fandral took a slab of bread, buttered it, and began layering it with smoked fish, meats, and bits of green herbs. Bruce shrugged and began to do the same, making and eating something like an open-faced sandwich. “This seems an unusually elaborate scheme to get that bunch of old men plotting against you. When they already are.”

“As usual, Fandral, your timing is impeccable. I don't know what I'd do without you.” Loki smiled, and it was one of those smiles Bruce recognized as not being completely genuine; there was a hint of something unpleasant in it.

“Find yourself a different member of the Warriors Three? But then again...we're all split up these days. Sometimes I wonder what keeps me here in Asgard instead of being exiled out in the Nine Realms like the others. I suppose Hogun the Grim wouldn't have made good company for your Midgardian friend?” Fandral's smile was brittle.

“You know why it must be.” Loki sighed. “After all, it's not into exile that the Three have been sent, as I have most certainly said on more than one occasion, but on missions for Asgard. They'll be back soon enough, once their duties are complete.”

“But for the Lady Sif who is still here.” Fandral leaned over, meeting Loki's eyes. “Sometimes I think you have plans for her. Or is she just too dangerous not to keep close, where you can keep an eye on her doings?”

“She was never one of the Three.” Loki plucked an apple from a tray and took a bite, meeting Fandral's gaze coolly. “But she could be, I suppose. Were there an opening. Perhaps someone like Volstagg will find better opportunities for employment elsewhere--”

“Is that a threat?” Fandral licked crumbs off his fingertips.

“Certainly not. Merely an observation. After all, he was not initially sponsored.”

“He's the first member in almost three thousand years to make it by his own merit. I think he deserves his place in the Three.”

“Unless he gets a better offer elsewhere. Besides that...well, I'm sure all of this is boring Bruce.”

“Hey, count me out of your party. I'm just here for the food.” Bruce made another open-faced sandwich, this time with cheese, jam, and a few slices of something that looked like salami. “Speaking of which, the food's pretty good here.”

“Oh, Bruce. You eat things in the most atrocious ways possible. Let me have a bite.”

“Fine.” Bruce held up the bread and offered it to Loki. But instead of taking the bread from his hand, Loki took his hand with the bread and brought it up to his mouth. 

“Looks appalling. No one in their right mind should be eating such a thing.” Loki took a bite of the bread, and Bruce froze, embarrassed. He glanced over; one of the guards was definitely watching, and then there was Fandral...

“Um.”

“Thank you. This tastes good though. Why haven't we thought of this sort of combination before?” Loki licked a smear of jam off of Bruce's fingertip and let him go. “This is why I'm always saying we need new ideas.”

Fandral looked as though he was about to speak, but then stopped, shaking his head. “My liege...if you don't mind, I have some matters to attend to. If you'll excuse me, I'll be back for your friend by the time court officially commences?”

“Fine.” Loki waved Fandral off, and the guards let him out. 

“So we're finally alone.” Loki smiled at Bruce, who glanced over at the guards.

“This? This counts as alone? There are like four guards in here. Five.”

“They are loyal to me. The Einherjar have their own factions. Some are my father's men, some are my brother's, many follow my mother...I've dispersed most of the ones that are not amenable to my interests and broken up their little cliques.”

“What about Fandral?” 

“He's probably reporting everything that's happened this morning to Lady Sif. Oh, and Mother. He plays a deep game.”

“Is...is that why he left? Do you have any privacy?” 

“Privacy is a luxury for a king. This is as alone as I get to be outside my bedchamber. Unless you'd like to be truly alone with me...” Loki smiled lazily, arching an eyebrow.

“Actually, Loki.” Bruce looked around. “I think I'd like that.” 

 

It turned out that Loki's bedroom wasn't far from Bruce's; in fact, the room he had been staying in could rightly be counted as part of a suite of rooms that Loki lived in. Once inside the suite, the guards outside closed the doors and kept watch. Loki showed him a few rooms; antechambers, a sitting chamber, an office, before taking Bruce to the bedroom.

Unsurprisingly it was grand, with a massive bed. Loki drew the curtains to the terrace; a gentle glow seeped in through the finely woven fabric but no longer was it the harsh light of day.

“Well. We're alone now. Truly alone. What did you want to talk about that you couldn't say in front of the guards?”

“I don't even know where to start.” Bruce ran his fingers through his hair, pacing the room. “This. This whole thing. What's going on? Why did you bring me here? Are you using me to piss people off? Because I don't appreciate that.”

“Bruce.” Loki came over and took him by his shoulders, sitting him down on the bed. “I admit I am using you a little. But understand that I really did bring you here because I missed you. The rest is just a bit of fun.” Loki's hand strayed to Bruce's neck. His hand cupped Bruce's jaw and Bruce gave a little shiver realizing that this must be a gesture of intimacy between Asgardians; about the only inches of uncovered skin that might be touched between two fully-clothed people.

“You...could have just visited. I can't stay here long. People are going to notice that I'm gone and they're going to start asking questions. Questions with consequences.”

“So let them ask. And let them go. Don't worry about what those people think. Stay with me here, please.”

“I can't...I mean, I said no to Tony Stark. He had a pretty good offer, you know. I think I would have really liked working for him. I probably would have been happy there. So I think I can say no to you too--”

But then Loki kissed him and a lot of Bruce's thoughts flew out of his head, and even more came stacking up.

“Loki...”

“If this were a bad idea, truly, you wouldn't have let me do that.”

“Loki...”

“Admit it. You wanted me to kiss you. And you want this too.” Loki kissed him again, lingeringly, his fingers caressing the sensitive flesh of Bruce's face and neck, and it was like a sharp longing gripped Bruce from the insides, drawing him to Loki.

“Loki.” They stared at each other for a long moment, and Loki smiled faintly to him, something of an apology and a question in those pale eyes.

Bruce suddenly caught him close and kissed him hard, before letting him go, panting. “You were gone so long. I mean, not that long for you. But for me...”

“I know. I'm sorry. This is my first year on the throne. I couldn't go off-world without first consolidating my power.”

“Why didn't you say something?”

“It was already in the works when I met you in New York. At that time...” Loki took a deep breath. “At that time, I meant to say goodbye. I knew things would be different once I was crowned. But then things changed.” Loki shrugged. “And I realized I could not let you go so easily.”

“So that time you were trying to find me--”

“Was borrowed time. I stayed too long as it was. Nearly missed the ceremony.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It doesn't matter. I've long been known for my capriciousness and unreliability.” Loki's eyes grew distant. 

“Wait. So they really made you king? What about...you know. That thing. Some years ago. We were both there, but I didn't know you then.”

“Yes. That.” Loki sighed. “Of course Odin was furious. To have the name of the royal house of Asgard besmirched by association with the Chitauri. But...you honestly thought that it was the first time I've rebelled against my family or fought with my brother?”

“The myths might have mentioned something about that,” Bruce thought of the translations of the Poetic Edda he had read.

“It happens. It's the scandal of the season. Everyone makes a terrible fuss and tells me how much of a disappointment I am, and then it blows over. There was some talk this last time of putting me in chains and so forth, but then I wasn't around to be put in chains. And of course Mother has always been my best ally. Besides, there are less obligations and expectations when one is the younger son of the royal house. And...not of the true bloodline.”

“Wait. I thought. You and your brother--”

“We were raised as twins. Him as the elder, me as the younger. Did you know that?”

“No. You never mentioned it before.”

“Clever Mother and her clever spells. Not even the midwife knew the truth of it. Though I doubt anyone knows the real truth of any of it, not even her. Whatever secrets Odin keeps...” Loki shrugged. “Whatever stories he's told about my origins, sometimes I doubt they are as true as he would like us all to believe. Funny thing, isn't it? To be named trickster and deceiver when I merely learnt from the best.”

“Loki. I don't think I understand...”

“You know, I'm not even very good at it. When it matters.” Loki leaned down and stole a kiss. “After all, I can't even trick you into loving me.”

“How...how am I supposed to answer that?” Exasperated, Bruce threw up his hands. “I don't know what to tell you.”

“Tell me I won't need trickery to accomplish that feat.”

“You wouldn't. But...” Bruce found himself leaning against his knees, his fingers tangled together. He stared at the floor; it was smooth stone, some kind of marble, and the little breeze that stirred the curtains left long, moving shadows across the length of the floor. “You wouldn't have to trick me. I wouldn't want you to trick me. But I have no answer. None. I thought I knew, but this...”

“Poor Bruce. You still can't make a decision.”

“Send me home.”

“Please stay. I need your support.”

“Send me home. This is your life. And I have my life. We each made our own choices--”

“Please, Bruce. I need you.” Loki drew Bruce in his arms, pressing kisses to his dark hair.

“I can't...” But Bruce closed his eyes, leaning against Loki. At first he could hardly feel Loki's arms around him through all the armour, but then somehow Loki knew where to touch him so that he would feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The intimate gesture between Loki and Bruce is essentially similar to Thor catching Loki by the collar/neck in The Avengers in the scene on the mountaintop.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce leaned against the terrace railing and looked out over the golden city. Great monuments of stone, architectural feats that were impossible or at least improbable by Earth's engineering methods were common as clay. And yet the world seemed small; he could see world's end from where he stood, where suddenly the sea cut off and disappeared into the starry horizon.

He could see why Loki would grow restless here; a questing, curious mind trapped on this tiny rock when an entire galaxy was out there, waiting. At least eight other realms of possibly vast worlds, all under the sovereignty of what seemed like a little dot of a flattened asteroid. He wondered how analogous it was to the British empire or Rome.

The other guy stirred in him faintly, and Bruce shook his head, as if scolding the darkness inside of him to retreat. He was mad, mad at Loki, who shouldn't have taken him from his home and dumped him into the middle of some alien political wrangling. He was mad at himself for knowingly walking into this mess when he let Loki lead him out of his house. And yet, despite all this, in the end, he couldn't quite get up the strength of determination to make Loki send him home. Instead, he had let Loki talk him into staying. Just a few more days.

It was a trap, Bruce knew it, and apparently he didn't care. Even though S.H.I.E.L.D. agents would probably be overrunning his house soon, wondering where he was. Even though he had left a container of frozen chili out on the counter to thaw that was by now probably bad. Even though he had a deadline in less than a month for his latest research paper. Bruce pressed his forehead against his clenched fists. 

_What are you doing here, Banner? What do you really want?_

He thought of Loki's palm, cool against his cheek, and wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Footsteps behind him. It didn't sound like Loki's thoughtful, measured tread. 

“Bruce.” It was Fandral again. Bruce turned around and managed a weak smile.

“Hey. How's it going?”

Fandral bowed neatly. “Everything is going well. It seems that you're becoming rather popular around here. You have an invitation to dinner.”

“Oh? Guess I must have made a good impression at breakfast.” Bruce's lip twitched; he was trying very hard not to scowl.

“It's an invitation from the Queen.”

“Another ambush?” Bruce scowled. 

“Certainly not. The Queen prefers her battles directly. She would think it shameful to wound you from any direction but the front.”

“Ha. Good to know. So...um, how'd you get in here? I thought these were Loki's rooms.”

“I have free run of the place.” Fandral winked. “It comes in handy.”

“Yeah?” Bruce felt something strange in him, a certain irritation, something like wanting the other guy to toss this pretty boy over the wall and into the sea below. He took a deep breath. “How's that working out for you these days?”

“Quite nicely. Though...you ought not be jealous. Loki and I have been friends since we were both boys.” 

“What, me? No, I am not jealous. And...ooh. Is that why. You and he, earlier...”

“Oh yes, we fight like brothers.” Fandral grinned. “But not like him and his actual brother. Fortunately for both of us. I have a low tolerance to magic, and he...well, let's say I'm pretty good with my blade.” He patted the sword at his hip. 

“Aren't you guys all...warriors?”

“Of course, but there are warriors, and there are warriors.” Fandral shrugged. “Loki's never been much of a fighter. He'd rather solve his problems with magic. And cunning.” 

“You know, that's not always a bad choice. At least the smarts part.”

“He just likes the clever way out of things,” Fandral said dismissively. “I suppose he's a greater warrior than anything the likes of a place like Midgard can produce, but around here, it takes more than what he has to offer to be considered great.”

“Huh. I didn't know. But you mentioned you two are friends?”

“We were trained together. At the time, any family lucky enough to have a child about the age of the princes were allowed to send their children to be trained with them. He and I were always friends,” Fandral smiled faintly, as if at a fond memory. “Though things became strained once I joined the Three.”

“Oh?” Bruce ventured cautiously; he was curious but he didn't want to seem as though he were prying.

“The Three has always had members that were very loyal to the Crown Prince's faction. Of course, being friends with Thor never meant that I disdained my friendship for Loki, but Loki felt slighted. I don't think he's ever quite forgiven me, though he'll never say it aloud. Oh, and of course...his sponsorship got me into the Three. So sometimes I wonder if he thought I was using his friendship for my own reasons...”

“Sponsorship. That word keeps coming up.” 

“Oh, yes. You might call it a favorite. It's not quite as official as a member of his household, but it's definitely more than just having a patron. Thus the strong colors.” Fandral held up his arm, showing Bruce the flash of green at his sleeves. “Every member of the royal family has a strong color that only they are allowed to wear, and they can extend the privilege to men they deem worthy. It used to denote elite members of the royal family's personal guard, but the meaning has changed over time. Now it's a sign of sponsorship. 

“Odin has the crimson and Thor as his first-born inherits that color. Frigga was granted the blue when she became queen, as is the style of the queens of Asgard. Though of course, women can wear any of the weak colors they please. They're rather more free than us in that way. Loki, well... I think the green comes from Bor or Buri, their pre-coronation color. Someone dragged it up out of an old book somewhere. There wasn't really a protocol set up for twins. Second sons, yes, but twins... Of course, now that he's king, he can take up the imperial crimson if he wants.”

Bruce tried to imagine Loki in red and shook his head. “Somehow I doubt that he would.” 

“No, he'd keep the green just to piss people off. Make sure that everyone knows that a second son climbed to the seat of power.” Fandral smirked, and something about it reminded him very much of Loki and it made Bruce smile a little. 

“I guess this means he's sponsoring me?” Bruce touched the sleeves of his garment.

“He's singling you out as being in his favor. I'm sure I wouldn't know why.” Fandral shrugged, nonchalant.

“Huh.” Bruce decided that this would take more time to think through, so he filed that thought away. “So...is he a good king?”

“Depends on who's asking. Anyhow, it's about time we get you ready for dinner.” Fandral looked Bruce over. “You managed not to ruin anything by trying to take it off.”

“Nope. Been wearing this all day. Working on getting used to all this,” Bruce smiled weakly. “Do you sleep in this stuff?” He pointed to Fandral's armour.

“Of course not! Don't be silly. Now then, there are some things you need to know in regards to etiquette before you meet the Queen...”

*****

Fandral escorted him as far as the Queen's receiving chamber, but then he took his leave. So much for his best ally, Bruce thought, but then he remembered that Fandral was probably allied with no one but himself.

“Okay.” Bruce looked around; the room was lovely and minimalistic, with a few chairs and a low table in the center of the room. It was decorated in silver and gold like the rest of the palace, but there were some touches to it that seemed almost personalized, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what. Perhaps it had to do with the carvings on the furniture? He felt like pacing but instead he sat down, thinking to himself that this could be some kind of test; perhaps someone was already watching and judging.

Elbows on the armrests, he steepled his fingertips together and stared at them, reviewing the particulars of etiquette that he was just taught. Fortunately he had a sharp memory; he was only concerned about the muscle memory element.

Bruce didn't have to wait long. At the sound of footsteps he stood up quickly, just in time to see the queen to come in.

“Your Majesty.” Bruce bowed deeply, respectfully, hoping that the three or four minutes of bowing practice with Fandral paid off. He didn't quite get a good look at her until he straightened up, merely catching a glimpse of her flowing blue-green gown and a flash of her silver armour.

“Dr. Bruce Banner.” Frigga's voice was warm and welcoming, though her eyes were steely. “A pleasure. But I've heard so little about you.”

“The pleasure's all mine, Your Majesty. Sorry. I'm still pretty new to this. I mean, being here on Asgard.” Bruce stood very still, tense, trying to remember what Fandral said. Fortunately, she sat down across from him, so he sat too. 

“So you are. I'm curious as to what brings you here.” She looked him over with a sharp, discerning eye, and Bruce could feel that the scrutiny was making him nervous, even as he admired her beauty and strength of personality. Unlike the graybeard councillors earlier, she was obviously a power to be reckoned with.

“You and me both,” Bruce smiled weakly. “I'm kind of surprised myself. One minute it's storming outside like crazy, then Loki shows up, and the next...whoosh! Here I am.” He gestured broadly. “Asgard is incredible, but I'd rather be home.”

“Oh? You didn't ask Loki to bring you here?”

Bruce's eyebrows went up in surprise. “Ha, no. That was him. I think he wanted to surprise me or something. I'm not up for this kind of...adventure. Look, I don't get out much. I do my research, I go to town sometimes to get groceries, I go to the university, I feed my cat... Speaking of which, I haven't seen her in a while...”

“I'm sure your cat is fine.” 

“Yeah. She's the warrior and adventurer. I'm just a homebody. I do some gardening. Um. Play the piano...it's honestly not very interesting.”

“Tell me. What is it that you do on Midgard?” She folded her fingers.

“Oh, you mean officially. Right.” Bruce sat up straighter, shifting in his seat. “I teach sometimes, at the university. Physics, mostly and a little math when they can't get anyone else to do it. I guess I could do biochem too, but no one's asked me to teach that. Mostly I do research. That is, I think up ideas, and try to write them up in a way that makes sense. Submit them to journals, people argue over them...” Bruce shrugged. 

“And where do you live?”

“Little house in the desert, just under a thousand square feet. Probably about the size of two of this room, if you broke it up into smaller rooms and stuck in some more furniture. It sits on a couple acres. I get some nice views of the mountains from where I live.”

Frigga smiled at him, looking him over again. “I wonder what my son sees in you.”

“You and me both, Your Majesty.” Bruce managed a nervous smile.

“After all, it's been ages since he's tried bringing a lover to court,” she continued blithely, meeting his eyes for his reaction. 

Bruce blinked. And blinked some more. “Ah?” But before he was forced to come up with some kind of an answer, a servant came in bearing drinks. He ended up with a mug of that hot tea, the one that tasted like pine needles, and he wondered if this was a favorite drink of Asgard, or if his preferences had been taken into account.

Frigga took a mug too; it looked oddly homey in contrast to her regal bearing, and made Bruce smile a little. She dismissed the servant.

She continued: “The last time Loki tried bringing a lover officially to court -- and it was ages ago -- his father was furious. He had the guards send her home and kept the poor boy so busy that by the time he could see her again...well, she was mortal, that one.”

“Oh. I think I know where this is going.” Bruce never knew this side of Loki. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized there was a lot that Loki had never said, had never even alluded to. But then again, it wasn't as if he had told Loki his life story either; in some ways despite their friendship, they were both still strangers to each other.

“I don't think he's ever forgiven Odin for that, but...it was terribly improper. If only he had conducted his affairs a little more discreetly...but then again, he was so much younger back then. Now that he's king, I suppose he thinks he can do as he likes.”

Their eyes met. Instinctively, Bruce felt that he shouldn't tell her he'd like to be sent home, even if he did. That was something he had to work out himself with Loki. Loki had not been exaggerating; he did need Bruce's support.

“But you're not like her.” Those calculating eyes ran over him again. “That is...you're not mortal, are you? Or so I've heard.” 

There it was again. Bruce had almost forgotten about it. He looked down at his hands, and realized he was fidgeting. He clasped his fingers together tightly to stop the nervous movement.

“Well. Now that you mention it, I guess I'm probably not. It's...different when you hear it said out loud. I really haven't given it a lot of thought. Or maybe I try not to. At least, not these days.”

“What happened?” Bruce looked up from the tangle of his fingers and saw that her eyes were warm, full of genuine concern, and though he knew he should tread carefully, he knew he could trust her with this. He knew that if nothing else, he liked her, for her straightforward kindness and her obvious love for her son. So it didn't cost him anything to tell her the truth, even though he had never really willingly told anyone about it before.

“About seven or eight years ago,” Bruce sighed, remembering ugly snippets of the past as he spoke. “Experimental research. I guess this is why I only do theoretical now; I'm not as good at the hands-on stuff as I want to be. Or maybe I just don't trust myself anymore with the experimental. Sometimes I get carried away...Sorry, I'm rambling. Anyway, there was an accident. I was exposed to a lot of gamma radiation. I've calculated it before; it was way more than a lethal dose. Like a couple dozen lethal doses. I probably should have died. At least I was alone; no one else died or got cancer. But...there were some other factors going on on top of the radiation and, well. It changed me.”

“How?”

“Let's just say...it brings out the worst in me.” Bruce looked away. “So I'm pretty strong. Healthy. I don't really get hurt anymore. I haven't had anything worse than a cold in years. I'm almost 46, so I guess it's closer to eight years than seven, and as far as I can tell, I haven't really changed since that day.” Bruce leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. “I haven't aged.”

“Interesting.”

“I mean, my hair grows and I have to shave and cut my nails and all the other normal things are normal,” Bruce added, sitting back up straight. “Just...I haven't been getting older. I don't have it on me, but if you look at my last driver's license picture and what I look like now, it's virtually identical--”

“I'm curious. Whatever did you mean by the worst?” Frigga leaned forward in her chair.

“It means, Mother, that you wouldn't like him if he were angry.” Loki strode in, cloak swirling around him. He looked to Bruce, and then Frigga. “My apologies. I didn't know we were all meeting like this. Had I known, I would have come earlier.” Bruce realized that particular statement was directed to him, like a declaration of alliance.

“Loki.” Frigga stood and took Loki's offered hands, smiling up at him. Bruce got up as well, remembering his etiquette lessons.

“Well. Now that we're all up, shall we?” Loki offered his mother his arm, and she took it gracefully. 

“Yes, of course.” Frigga patted Loki's arm, and Bruce followed them to the dining room.

 

If there was something that Bruce was glad about, it was that on Asgard, utensils didn't extend to the vast array of forks, knives, and spoons that were omnipresent at fancy dinner parties. Not that he had been to a fancy dinner party since the one that Tony Stark put on in the aftermath of the attack on New York. It was some kind of fundraiser that Bruce was, as Stark had joked, contractually obligated to attend. Not that it was much of a joke, because there was no excuse good enough for Stark to excuse Bruce from attendance. There had been a lot of forks, a lot of spoons, a few knives, and a lot of courses. He could barely touch a thing then, though it had more to do with the stress and less to do with cutlery.

Tonight however, dinner was much simpler affair though the atmosphere was no less tense; Bruce felt that he was under intense scrutiny and was meticulously careful about table manners, though the only utensils were a metal spoon and a bone-handled knife. They were served bowls of a delicious homey stew of venison, mustard greens, leeks, and some sort of root vegetable that seemed analogous to potatoes, though it had a slightly different flavor. 

“Rutabaga.”

“Excuse me?” Loki glanced up at Bruce. 

“Sorry. I was thinking out loud. Is this rutabaga?”

“Yes, Bruce. It's an old favorite meal of mine.” Loki smiled to Frigga. “Thank you for thinking of me, Mother.”

“Certainly. Though it would be nice if you thought of others once in a while. You didn't even introduce me to your friend.” Frigga gave Loki a particularly stern look.

“My apologies. I merely wanted him to have a chance to get settled in first.”

“Is that why you brought him to your morning meeting?”

“That,” Loki said, as he dipped a piece of bread in the stew, “Was merely a scheduling error with Fandral.”

“That's odd. It's not like Fandral to make mistakes like that.” Frigga looked at Loki levelly, as if calling him out on a lie, and Loki merely shrugged.

“Oh, it was my mistake, Mother,” he said lightly, though there was a tenseness to it, a particular blankness to Loki's expression that Bruce recognized for what it was; interaction between a concerned parent and a petulant child. He smiled faintly to himself and decided that it would be only sporting to help Loki out.

“Hey, this is really good. I should get the recipe,” Bruce said, cutting into a tender cube of rutabaga with his spoon. “Where do I get the recipe for something like this?”

“Recipe? Why would you want that?” Frigga gave him a look that suggested that she knew what he was trying to do. Bruce gave her a little half-smile of apology, but he wasn't about to back down.

“I'd like to try to make this myself, Your Majesty. I do my own cooking at home.”

“Oh, goodness. I've never thought of such a thing. I suppose we could ask a servant to have the cooks write something down for him?”

“All right, I'll have someone write you up some recipes, Bruce.” Loki smiled. “Then you can cook dishes for me that I like.”

“It depends on if I can get the ingredients back home,” Bruce noted, giving Loki a wry look. “I don't get how there are rutabagas up here...is this a common vegetable? Are there even farms on Asgard?”

“Asgard itself does not have farms, though we do have many fish in the seas and lakes,” Loki wiped his fingers on a napkin. “Actually, we receive quite a bit of tribute from the Nine Realms. Most of what's eaten in Asgard is grown or hunted in Vanaheim, and its resemblance to Midgard in people and climate is such that the produce is almost identical.”

“What's the difference?”

“The vegetables of Vanaheim are a little larger, perhaps.”

“And there are some fruits that only grow there,” Frigga added.

Servants came to clear the table as they finished up, and brought a tray of fruit, cheeses, and sweetmeats made of honey, dried fruit, and nuts. Though Loki and Frigga had wine throughout the meal, Bruce was served tea, a different one this time that was faintly bitter with herbs.

The conversation turned subdued, to little bits of small-talk about nothing in particular. Bruce was offered an unfamiliar fruit, something green that grew in bunches like grapes and were about the size of grapes, though they had a papery, inedible skin and were crisp like little apples. He sat peeling and eating them, and at times Loki would steal a peeled fruit from him before he could eat it.

“I spoke to Sif today,” Frigga looked across at Loki, and from Loki's sudden, almost unnatural stillness Bruce knew that this was a turn of conversation that was possibly going to get ugly.

“Oh? And how is the Lady Sif?” Loki managed to sound completely unperturbed, though the set of his shoulders and the little lines of tension around his mouth suggested otherwise.

“She asked after you.”

“How very nice of her. Is she well?”

“I think she finds it difficult staying patient while training soldiers in Asgard instead of fighting with the armies in the Nine Realms.”

“Sadly, had Asgard a precedent for women generals, I would have sent her too. But I try not to break with custom. At least not in my first regnal year.”

“What about bringing your friend to Asgard?” Bruce finished the last of the fruit and wiped his hands, glancing between mother and son, trying to gauge the situation.

“What about Bruce? If you've read the archives, Mother, you'll recall that Buri brought allies to court from all over the Nine Realms. Reading between the lines, it is obvious that he had a new lover at court every season. Most from off-world. A few even mortal, if you would believe it. I don't see what the problem is.”

“Oh, those days are long past.” Frigga waved her hand dismissively. “You know that if you want to keep and secure the throne, you'll do what's necessary and marry. Someone of the proper rank and birth, to ensure succession.”

Bruce looked down at the discarded fruit husks piled neatly on his plate. That was definitely a message and not just to Loki. He laced his fingers together, gripping his hands tightly.

There was a long, tense pause, and before Bruce could say something stupid, Loki spoke.

“Of course, Mother.” Loki's smile turned brittle. “But in my own time, and of my own choosing.”

“You know this is because I love you and want the best for you. You and Sif have been friends for so long...” Frigga took Loki's hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling at him fondly, with the exasperation of any loving parent. “I only want your happiness.”

“Yes, of course.” Loki smiled at her, patiently. “I know you want only the best for me. Now, if you don't mind, it's been a long day. I ought to see Bruce to bed.” 

Frigga's mouth pursed, and she took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. 

“Well,” she smiled sweetly. “I suppose you're right. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bruce. We shall have to meet again. And Loki, my darling son--”

“I understand, Mother.” Loki stood, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you for dinner. We'll talk again soon.”

*****

“So that was nice. I met your mother,” Bruce said once they were alone in the privacy of Loki's suite. “She seems nice. I like her.”

“Nice.” Loki chuckled. “Mother was a great warrior in her youth. I think had the Three ever allowed women, she would have easily fought her way among the ranks. You haven't met Hogun the Grim, but they were close friends in her youth and fought side by side. It's a shame she was never allowed to be a great warrior.” Loki unfastened his cloak, tossing it carelessly onto a divan. “Bruce, I want you to know that this was rather an unusual dinner; these days she normally doesn't take visitors. Now that Odin's ill, she spends much of her time at his side. Even I only see her a few times a week at best. I think she's done you a great honor. Or perhaps she's just curious and wants to see what kind of influence you have over me.” 

“Let's go with the honor one. I like that better, even though the influence one is probably more reasonable. I mean, it makes sense. I'd do the same thing if I were her,” Bruce sat down, careful not to sit on Loki's discarded cloak. “I really liked her. You know, she told me some interesting things.”

“Oh?” Loki glanced over at him, a certain wariness in his voice.

“Yeah.” Bruce found his glasses and turned them over in his hands, looking at the glint of golden light along the smooth curve of the plastic lenses. “She thinks I'm your...your lover. And she told me about someone you loved once, a long time ago, that was sent away. I think she was trying to warn me about what could happen.”

Loki had his back turned to Bruce; he was fiddling with a strap on his armour. “Oh. Did she now. And?”

“And...I just want to know. Actually. I don't know what I want to know. Maybe I don't want to know.” Bruce tucked his glasses into his collar again, and began to try to figure out how to take the armour off. He managed to slip off the vambraces, and unsure of where to put them, set them down on the floor by his feet.

“She's right, you know. I am trying to establish you as my lover at court.”

“Even though...”

“Even though we are not truly lovers. At least, not yet.” Loki smiled at Bruce, and there was something dark, almost menacing in those eyes, and Bruce had to look away. He fumbled with the fastenings of the armour, struggling.

“Why would you...I mean, why--”

Loki came over and slipped his hand under the breastplate, undoing a strap and lightly slipping the armour off over Bruce's head. “Because I want it to be true.”

“That's not what I meant and you know it.”

“Can't it just be that?” Loki stole a kiss.

“Look, that charming thing is really effective but it isn't always going to work--”

“Fine. Do you really want to know? Because it gives me a little power over my own life. You heard her; she wants me married off. She's not the only one. They all have their particular agendas to push. Putting you here at my side creates the kind of scandal that throws all their little plots into disarray.”

“Ah.” Bruce thought it through. This was the one and only thing that Loki could do on his own to reinforce the notion that he could and would make his own decisions separate from his councillors and his mother. “Clever. Very impressive. You know, it sounds like you could be pretty good at this king thing.”

“I was born to it,” Loki said stiffly. “We were raised to rule. But Mother has always, as long as I can remember, wanted me on the throne. She won't say it directly to Odin, but she has always thought me more suitable.”

“Why is that? I mean, I'm just curious.”

Loki laughed, a dark, bitter sound. “Because my brother is a vicious, bumbling oaf who believes too much of the mealy-mouthed pablum that Odin has been forcing down the throats of Asgard for centuries.”

“Excuse me?” Bruce blinked. “I'm not sure I understand what you mean. Context, please.”

“We, that is, Asgard,” Loki began to pace the room. “Are inherently a warrior society. That changed after the war with Jotunheim.”

“'The mountains burst, earth burned with fire/And Odin sought Jotunheim.'”

“Exactly. The worst of the war raged before I was born. It was costly, what you might call a war of attrition, one where both sides lost more than they gained. It was at that time that Odin lost his taste for war. About the same time he lost his eye.”

“I thought he traded it for wisdom. And was hung from a tree. The world tree?”

Loki laughed, dismissively. “A fairy tale for Midgardian peasants. Not you, I mean, but the fur and wool clad men of the time. No, he lost it in battle, and the wisdom he gained was in realizing that he had to use his wits if he wanted to win. He won the war purely by theft. He stole the artifact that powered Jotunheim. And some other things.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“It doesn't matter.” Loki looked away. “The end result was that without their artifact, their relic, the Jotuns were forced to sue for peace. Odin held parley with Laufey, the king of the Jotuns and the war ended. It's a myth that Asgard won, our own little fantasy; we merely did not lose. I think a king like Bor or Buri would have preferred death over winning in the manner in which Odin did.” 

“Oh.” Bruce undid the tough Asgardian vest and set it aside; that was what had been corseting his waist. With a sigh of relief, he collapsed against the cushions.

Loki gave him a long, considering look before deciding to continue.

“There are many of us who would return Asgard to its old days of glory. These centuries of peace have not been good for us. The Einherjar have grown complacent and unskilled, dulled without the whetstone of war. In the old days, every member of the royal family had a personal corps of guards; in Odin's time, even the queen is left unguarded as proof of our new era of peace,” Loki's voice was mocking. “It is embarrassing how lax things have grown.”

“Military-industrial complex,” Bruce muttered to himself. 

“I may not be much of a warrior,” Loki said wryly, “But I do intend to return Asgard to its former position of power in the Nine Realms.” 

“Loki. Wait.” Bruce looked up, realizing the implications. “Please don't tell me you're trying to take over Earth again.”

“No. However...” There was a glint of mischief in Loki's eyes. “Perhaps if you were to ask me very nicely not to, I'll consider sparing your precious Earth.”

“You're not really doing this, are you? Please don't do this.”

“I could.”

“I wouldn't forgive you.”

“I know. That was merely in jest. These days, Midgard isn't worth the effort.” Loki came over, footsteps deliberate, and sat down beside Bruce, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Enough with the history lesson. You look so good like this, half-dressed. It's hard not for me to tease you a little.”

Bruce gave a nervous laugh. “What do you mean, half-dressed? I've got like...at least two layers on. Less than 15% of my overall surface area is exposed--”

“No warrior on Asgard wears so little.” Loki murmured, a low, intimate sound. “It's practically indecent.”

“You can't be serious.” Bruce began to laugh. “But look! Tunic, pants, more pants under pants...more tunic under tunic...” He began to turn up the edges of his sleeves and the waistband of his trousers to show Loki the layers of clothes he was wearing.

“I am serious.” Loki leaned over to kiss Bruce's throat, and Bruce shivered.

“Wait. Tell me more about Asgard's history?”

“Sorry, no. Not now.” Loki twined his arms around Bruce's waist. “Later. Tomorrow.” He closed his eyes and rested his head on Bruce's shoulder.

“Okay. Maybe later.” Bruce sighed, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, Loki's arms warm around him.

Trying to ignore his feelings, Bruce thought about everything else, anything else. Politics, family, secrets, the past...Bruce went over the details in his mind, trying to reconcile all the bits of data he had learned. It had been a long day, the kind of day that was so long that it almost felt like a couple days packed together into one. Finally, Bruce shifted a little. He realized he had been lost in thought for several minutes and had been on the verge of dozing off.

“Loki?” Without meaning to, Bruce found himself stroking his fingers through Loki's hair, but Loki didn't respond, his breathing even and relaxed. 

So Loki had fallen asleep. Bruce shook his head.

Now to prove that he was as strong as he had said he was. Certainly, not nearly as strong as the other guy, but pretty tough in his own right. Bruce took a deep breath and carefully, cautiously, eased Loki up, grateful that Loki's arms were still around him. Somehow he managed to get the mostly asleep Loki twenty feet or so to the big bed, and now that he had a better idea of how the clothes worked, he unbuckled and removed Loki's golden armour. He tugged off Loki's boots and socks, and tucked him in.

“All right.” Bruce sat down, exhausted. Unthinkingly, he took off his own shoes and socks, and then spent a minute trying to decide if he should stay or try to figure out where his room was again in relation to this room.

“What the hell.” Bruce decided he couldn't be bothered and it wasn't as though they hadn't shared beds before. He took off the heavier outer layer of clothing, and climbed into bed. As he settled down into the covers, the golden light abated. A faint, silvery light filled the room and it took Bruce a moment to figure out that it was coming in from the windows.

He realized it probably never really became that dark at night this close to the glowing heart of the galaxy, where he estimated Asgard was. Closer to the center of the Milky Way, where theoretically, physics would work differently and where they were closer to so many more stars than they would be on Earth. He wondered if from here they could observe the supermassive black hole at the center, if they could see stars being born and dying in the slow, majestic rotation of the Milky Way.

No wonder they decorated so much in gold and silver; it was merely a reflection of the starry vastness that Asgard was a part of, glowing brightly against the darkness of space.

Loki moved closer to him, seeking warmth, and Bruce put his arm around Loki's shoulders, Loki's head heavy against his chest.

Bruce remembered those long, lonely months, where all he wanted was a glimpse of Loki, a sign that Loki would return to him. Some way to discuss the thoughts and feelings that had been troubling him. He had missed those meals together at the kitchen table, Loki's presence in his house, the companionship and intimacy of friendship that was occasionally broken by Loki's little pranks.

He tried to imagine Loki married. So there would probably be some kind of big festival or party. It might last a day, it might last a few days. The gala of a lifetime. Maybe it would be like the marriages he had read about before, from ancient history, where the groom would take a sword and cut a loaf, sharing the bread, and then wine would be drunk to seal the pact. The unknown bride, the wedding night...maybe little children after a few years, green-eyed and dark-haired, mischievous little brats. Perhaps there would even be one that was quiet and polite, conscientious and demure. He could see it in his mind's eye, Loki as a father, cradling an unnamed child in his arms, and it seemed utterly reasonable, completely what should happen. The responsible thing to do.

And then when he thought of himself, an icy stab of pain went through him. Returning by himself to his house in the desert, to his self-imposed exile. Works and days, the passing of the time and years. Would Loki ever visit him again? Maybe in a decade, maybe in a lifetime. An hour or a day here and there between the affairs of state and the responsibilities of family. Or perhaps Loki would forget him altogether. After all, as Loki himself said, previous kings had lovers every season; what was a few years or even a human lifetime to someone like Loki but the passing of a brief season like spring or autumn? He would be alone again, maybe this time for good.

But wasn't this what Loki always wanted? To be king. Bruce had heard him say it before, on more than one occasion. He knew he had no right to interfere. Whatever happened, he couldn't take that from Loki.

Loki shifted, and his breath stirred curling tendrils of Bruce's hair. Bruce sighed, tightening his grip just a little, but not enough to disturb the sleeper.

Bruce took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce quotes a slightly modified line from the Poetic Edda. The fruit Bruce is eating is completely fictional; feel free to guess what three actual fruits it's based on (two are given). The dinner Loki, Bruce, and Frigga are having is modified slightly from a recipe from New Scandinavian Cooking (if you want the recipe, look up 'lamb stew with mustard, leek and rutabaga').


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay.” Bruce stood back and looked at his written work, finishing his line-by-line check of the last third of it. He rubbed at the chalk with his hand, making a little correction. Apparently Asgard didn't believe in whiteboards and dry-erase markers, but after some discussion, the servants had brought him what amounted to a nice big chalkboard, a large, flat, smooth-surfaced piece of slate set in a glossy metal frame could be easily adjusted to whatever angle and height he preferred. 

He picked up the book again and looked at it, and then back at the board. This was definitely better than sitting around and worrying about Loki, about his life choices, about the rules of Asgardian court etiquette, about everything. Math was always better and more soothing than thinking too hard about personal problems.

Fortunately, in the last day or two he had been left to his own devices. Unfortunately it meant that he barely saw Loki, who seemed embroiled in whatever business a king had at court, all of which Loki was beginning to brief him on in excruciating detail whenever they had a chance to meet. To fill his free time, Bruce found a little personal library attached to Loki's study, and had been reading anything and everything. History, science, mathematics, art, even a few novels. What was odd was that the nature of the language of the All-Tongue apparently extended to the written language too. Despite it being obviously runic in nature, Bruce found it completely readable. It was utterly perplexing to him how mutually intelligible both the written and the spoken language of Asgard were, but not being a linguist or a neurologist, he didn't let it trouble him too much. It was enough that it opened him up to a world of new ideas, and he wasn't about to question that opportunity.

“You know, maybe these books don't cover enough of what I want to know. I probably need more books. Lopt, do you think they have a research library I could use? Maybe a galactic interlibrary loan?” Bruce said to Lopt, who licked her paw and gave him a look of disdain. 

“Perhaps you just need someone who can give you some better answers.”

“Oh. Hey.” Bruce turned around, eyes widening when he realized someone was at the door. “I'm sorry, do I know you?” 

A dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty, her silver armour shining. Red; her color was red. Bruce thought for a moment. So someone of importance, either to Thor or Odin. Which meant someone significant to the power structure in Asgard. Bruce tensed and realized that he should have been wearing more layers; he hadn't been bothering with all the armour and leather while he was alone.

“We haven't met formally, but I think you must have heard of me as I have heard of you.” The woman walked forward, and Bruce found himself backing up just a little, as if stepping aside for a queen. Or a lioness.

“Sorry. I'm not sure...?”

“I am Sif.” So this was the Lady Sif. Bruce's eyes widened; she was beautiful, a raven-haired incarnation of loveliness and immediately he could tell why Loki's mother had been pushing for marriage. Her eyes were hard, not with malice, but merely straightforwardness and a clarity of purpose that Bruce rarely saw in anyone.

“Pleased to meet you.” Bruce bowed, trying to be respectful. When he straightened up, he found she was smiling a little, the kind of smile that someone who didn't smile very much made when they were trying very hard not to smile.

“Um.” Sif pointed to her own face and hair, and then gave him a look when he blinked in confusion. “You have. Something...” The corner of her mouth twitched.

“Hmm? Oh?” Bruce looked at his chalk-covered hands, and then rubbed his cheek with the little bit of clean skin at the back of his hand, and then realized he must be covered in chalk. “Oh. Oh! Sorry! I must be a mess. Excuse me, let me go take care of this.” Before she could say anything, he hurried off to the bathroom to wash his hands and face.

“Stupid, stupid...” Bruce stared at himself in a mirror; somehow he had managed to streak pale blue chalk throughout his dark hair. He wet his fingers and ran his hands through his hair, getting most of it out.

Before he went back, he checked himself again. Damp, curling locks, a little on the long side; he needed a haircut. A lot of stubble; a five o'clock shadow. Glasses dotted with droplets of water. Little lines of wrinkles here and there at the corners of his eyes, at the corners of his mouth, his forehead...and he was supposed to compete with her? The more he found out, the less he understood what Loki saw in him, and after meeting Sif it seemed incredible, beyond belief that Loki would have any interest in him. Anyone would pick the Lady Sif in a heartbeat over him. Hell, Bruce would pick the Lady Sif in a heartbeat over himself.

Scrubbing his hair quickly with a towel, he returned to the library and found Sif kneeling on the ground playing with Lopt, stroking her hands through Lopt's orange fur.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Sif,” Bruce began, as formally as he could. “I get carried away sometimes.” Quickly, he realized he still had his glasses on and took them off, folding them, turning them over nervously in his hands.

“It's all right. And call me Sif. This creature of yours, this cat...she is lovely.” Sif picked up Lopt, who was purring up a storm. Surprisingly, Lopt allowed it, letting Sif cradle her against her armour.

“Oh. Do you like cats?”

“I most certainly do. During the later days of the Jotun wars on Midgard when I was first a warrior, one became my companion. He was a brave little warrior, a slayer of many a fieldmouse and bird.”

“Sounds like Lopt. She's a great slayer of little critters too, which is why I keep her indoors as much as possible. She's been my good companion for a few years now. I think you might be her new favorite person,” Bruce relaxed a little as they found some common ground. “Um, did I say it's a pleasure to meet you? Because it is. Oh, and I'm Dr. Bruce Banner. Please call me Bruce.”

“Oh yes. You have not skimped on the niceties. And I know your names and titles,” Sif stroked the purring Lopt, meeting Bruce's eyes clearly. “I came to ask you something important.”

“Oh? What's that?” So no playing around. Bruce liked her directness; you knew where you stood with a person like this.

“How serious is Loki about the marriage offer?” 

“That? I don't know. He hasn't said anything to me about it.”

“No?” Sif seemed completely taken aback. “Haven't you talked to him about it?”

“It hasn't come up. Besides, I haven't seen him long enough to--”

“So you don't have any ambitions and don't mind the lower status...” Sif's eyes narrowed. “Or perhaps this lover thing is all a ruse--”

“Whoa. Whoa. Hey, I don't know what you've heard, but let me tell you--” Bruce stepped forward and accidentally bumped into the chalkboard with his shoulder, and Sif glanced at it briefly, dismissively, before doing a double take.

“Is this...a schematic of Asgard?” Sif pointed to a rough sketch in the top right corner. Bruce took a deep breath; either she had been distracted or she was showing him mercy. Somehow he doubted that she was easily distracted.

“Yeah. I copied it from the book. Why?”

Sif glanced over his work. “You want to know how the physics works? Is that it?”

“Um. Well, yes. I've been trying to figure out what it is. I've read about extraplanetary objects similar in size to Asgard but they aren't anything like Asgard. The book is pretty clear about the basic model but I feel like it's missing some details. And this line about 'the heart of a star' doesn't make sense to me because then even if we ignore the latent heat thing, the density and gravitational pull would be completely different and someone like me should be squashed dead.”

Sif looked over his numbers. “I see what you've done here. This is neat work. You've done everything right, but you're answering the wrong question. It's an impressive question though. I wouldn't have thought of it like this.”

Bruce crossed his arms, looking at his work with a sigh. “I hate it when that happens. Well, that's what peer-review and colleagues are for. What should I be asking?”

“It's not an asteroid or a planetoid, not in the usual sense.”

“No?”

“Do you know of Mjolnir?”

“Yeah. I've...seen it in action.” A hazy memory of trying and failing to lift a super dense hammer, and Bruce shook his head.

“Mjolnir was forged in the heart of a star. Asgard is somewhat analogous; it is forged _from_ the heart of a star. What you call a neutron star,” Sif erased about half the board with the heel of her hand and began to fill it with a more precise definition; it was strange to Bruce how the runes basically read like standard math and physics notation.

“The star was reforged by Buri's great might into the shape of our home. The remaining heat and gravity were harnessed and controlled, converted into a power that protects our world. Some worlds have relics that power their civilization,” Sif explained, “But Asgard itself is the relic, which makes it so much more powerful than the others.”

“Oh okay. I think I see what you mean.” Bruce blinked; the concepts that Sif had written were far more advanced than anything he had seen before. It would take some serious study to master the precepts she had laid out.

“Besides, this book that you've been reading is a book for children,” Sif made a face. “Loki received it as a present when he was a child.”

“Huh. A kid's book?” Bruce blinked; he would have thought it was approximately analogous to an upper-division university textbook. “Did you know him then?”

“Of course. The book was a present from me.”

“Oh.” Awkwardly, Bruce tried to put his hands in his pockets, and then too-late remembered he had no pockets. Instead he put them behind his back, trying not to fidget. “So...you've known each other a long time?”

“I've known him all his life. I am older by almost twenty years. By our reckoning, that puts us in the same cohort. Plus or minus nine times nine years makes a cohort, if you were wondering. Members of a cohort are all close in age. We trained and studied together as children.”

“So wait. Why are you asking me about Loki's marriage plans? Shouldn't he be discussing those plans with you?”

At that, Sif laughed, and it startled Lopt out of her arms. Lopt ended up under the desk, glaring at both of them. Which made her laugh even more.

“Right. He's not really the kind to share his plans with anyone.” 

“No. Here I thought perhaps I was meeting a confidant, and perhaps you are, or perhaps you're merely a Midgardian fool who's briefly caught his attention. He's like that, you know.”

“Well, that last one might not be completely inaccurate...” As they conversed, Bruce realized that he had been passive for too long, letting other people put him on the defense by letting them bombard him with questions. He decided he needed to stave off more questions by going on the offensive.

“So...do you have free run of his quarters too?”

Sif scoffed. “Of course not. Fandral let me in so I could meet you. But don't tell Loki that, all right? It's our secret. I wouldn't want to get Fandral in trouble.” She grinned at him, and Bruce found himself charmed, despite his initial reticence.

“Ha, sure thing. I wouldn't want that either. Um, please. Have a seat.” Bruce pulled out a chair for her from behind the desk. “I'd offer you something to eat or drink but we'd have to call a servant and that sort of undermines the secrecy thing.”

“Thank you for the offer but I don't need any refreshment. I understand the circumstances.” As Sif sat, Lopt came back to her, bounding into her lap.

“So what brings you here? Come to see the alien humanoid in the zoo?” Bruce grinned. “Please don't poke me with sticks, I probably wouldn't like that.”

“You're safe from pokings with sticks, I can assure you,” Sif relaxed minutely at the banter, and Bruce was pleased; so she could be charmed, to a degree. “I wanted to see who this immortal mortal was. It wouldn't be seemly to ask Loki straight out for permission to meet you, so I bypassed the usual systems. Truly, I didn't know what I was supposed to expect...”

“You don't have to pull any punches. I'm nothing special.”

“This says otherwise,” Sif pointed to the board. “You did something very interesting here, something I didn't think a Midgardian was capable of.”

“We're a clever bunch of apes. I'm sure someone could have come up with something, given enough time and books. You forget that unlike other people, I have the benefit of this highly technical manual to help,” Bruce chuckled, tapping the cover of the book. “I'm pretty impressed; your kids must be very well-educated around here.”

“Some of us are educated more so than others. But I think we are short on new ideas. Certainly your work makes me think that we should talk about some of the things I've experienced traveling through the Nine Realms...it would be nice to give clarity to my thoughts. My duties leave me little time for musing.”

“Yeah? Sure! Of course! That sounds amazing. Hey, if you've got the measurements, I've got the time. I'm always up for some math or physics...any of the sciences, really. I'm not an expert in everything, but I'm pretty flexible and I learn quickly. Just no statistics, please. That's too much data to calculate by hand.”

“We have computers too,” Sif arched her eyebrow. “Not everything is so different from Midgard.”

“Seems like a lot of things are similar. Like the vegetables of Vanaheim...” 

They ended up talking for some hours, though it felt shorter, and Bruce found himself impressed by her intelligence and her cutting sense of humor. They talked mostly about physics, but then it eventually turned into stories of their respective cats and the nature of the All-Tongue.

“Bruce, think about it this way: photonically, the perception of light via--” Sif glanced out the window, and Bruce guessed she was gauging the time by the quality of the light. “Oh damn. I didn't mean to stay so long. I really ought to be going.” 

“I'm sorry Sif, I've kept you here too long--”

“No, it's all right. I kept myself here,” she smiled. “Though...”

“Hmm?”

“Bruce, would you like come to court? Loki's taking afternoon petitions and I have a matter I've been meaning to bring to him. Would you like to come see the process?”

Bruce thought about it briefly; was it a trap? But then, Sif didn't really seem like the trap-springing type, he thought, but the direct-stab-to-the-heart type. He thought through the implications: Loki might have a plan in mind already for introducing him to court, and he winced internally wondering what kind of weird situation Loki might dream up, perhaps something so scandalous that Bruce might be crushed by embarrassment. If Bruce were to appear unannounced with the fiancee, at minimum, it would suggest to others that the two of them got along, which seemed like a good idea to Bruce; it would stave off any questions of rivalry and ensure that people didn't get any weird ideas about Bruce trying to usurp anyone's rightful future position. And finally, Bruce realized that because a surprise appearance was outside of Loki's control, it could be a sort of message to Loki too, that Bruce himself wasn't about to let himself be used by Loki as a pawn. 

“You know what. I think that sounds like a great idea.” Bruce got to his feet. “Let me go put on some more layers and armour, and we'll go.”

 

“I gotta ask, because this has been on my mind,” Bruce glanced up at Sif as they were walking down through the upper floors of the palace to the throne room. Of course, she was taller than him; even accounting for the heeled boots she wore, she was still taller. About the only people Bruce had seen that weren't taller were servants. “Are...uh, people okay with Loki being king?”

They walked for a few feet more before Sif suddenly skidded to a halt and turned to meet his eyes. There was a note of some barely contained, unspoken emotion in her dark, beautiful eyes.

“I can't speak for others, but for me, it was not easy to accept Loki,” she began, and then took a deep, steadying breath. “But we must accept him for the sake of Asgard. I...” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up something to upset you,” Bruce flinched, embarrassed to have caught her out.

“No, no. It's all right. I'm fine,” Sif's eyes narrowed, and her gaze hardened, and Bruce could imagine that it was the same expression she might have when someone was stitching up her battle wounds, or drawing out an arrow from her side. 

“I was there when Thor renounced the throne. At first Odin would not accept it, but Thor made his feelings very clear,” Her breath caught, and she looked away. It took her a few seconds before she could continue, her voice hoarse with emotion. “There was a brief ceremony afterward.”

Bruce was quiet, giving her a moment to steady herself and she did. 

“So now that Odin is incapacitated,” she continued, this time sounding brisk and businesslike, “We are left with either Loki or no king of Asgard. And...” Sif frowned, and then said with grudging respect, “I suppose it's only fair to say that Loki's improved. Maybe even matured.”

“Yeah?”

“If you didn't know already, he was king briefly a few years ago. It was a mixed bag of tricks,” Sif's mouth quirked in a bitter smile. “He killed our greatest foe and crippled the realm of our greatest enemies, but he also tried to kill our greatest champion. You'll understand that my feelings about the matter are ambiguous, and that I would prefer you not to ask me about this again. At least not for a decade or three.”

“Sif, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“It's all right, Bruce. Probably better that you heard it from me and not him,” Sif took a deep breath and Bruce wondered if this straightening of back and loosening of shoulders was one of the last things her opponents saw before battle. “Let us go. From here on out, we should refrain from too much conversation.”

Bruce nodded acquiescence.

 

The great hall was quiet despite small groups of courtiers milling about the tall columns. The Einherjar let them in wordlessly through the great doors. As Bruce walked at Sif's side through the long central nave, a murmuring wave of whispers began to spread, eddying and propagating around them as if the two were a skiff cutting through still waters. 

Sif took a measured, casual tread and it wasn't long before they reached the throne, but to Bruce it felt like forever. Yet to his credit, he managed to keep his head up and his shoulders down; he had mentally prepared for it during the walk down from the upper palace. He tried to imagine how Loki would handle the staring eyes of a scandalized court, and decided to try to emulate the poise, though not so much the contemptuous insolence.

Loki sat on the throne as neatly as if he were sitting at the piano, a great golden spear in hand, listening carefully to petitioners; he hadn't noticed Bruce and Sif yet, or perhaps he was playing at not noticing them. There was one petitioner ahead of them, so Bruce settled back slightly out of the way to maintain discretion while still being close enough to follow the proceedings.

“My king, I ask that you reconsider my petition on fishing rights in the southwest quadrant,” said chubby man with an auburn beard and a curious, distinct curl of hair in the middle of his forehead. He bowed before the throne, but something about his bearing seemed less than respectful. Bruce racked his memory of Loki's descriptions of the major courtiers, and came up with the name Keld, called the Fiske, whose influence and wealth was due to his economic clout. Mercantile class, Bruce had guessed, with aspirations for more, if parallels could be drawn with various eras in Earth history. 

“The south...west quadrant?” Loki's brow furrowed, and Bruce could tell Loki wasn't quite remembering the details. Loki shifted as if to sit more comfortably in the throne, to sprawl out on it as if any other chair, but he corrected himself before he allowed himself to slouch.

“Yes, Your Majesty, if you recall, my people and I have a traditional right to the region...” So the man had noticed Loki's lapse, and was trying to capitalize on it.

Bruce glanced up at Loki, who met his eyes briefly. So he was aware that Bruce and Sif were there.

“And if you recall, Majesty,” and that word sounded particularly tinged with disdain, “You've already heard a previous petition and said you would consider it.” So a threat to continue to plague the afternoon petitioners meetings until Loki agreed or somehow figured out a way to get rid of him, which Loki probably couldn't legally do.

“Certainly, these issues are true,” Loki began. “And We would be remiss in not addressing your concerns.” Bruce winced internally; it was obvious to him that Loki was trying to stall for time, trying remember some almost insignificant detail of economic policy that he had mentioned to Bruce in passing the day before. 

“Given the facts stated, it seems that the traditional right has validity...” Loki frowned to himself, as if trying to remember if the answer to Keld was supposed to be yes or no. Bruce glanced at him, and then at Keld, who was dabbing his lips with a handkerchief to conceal a tiny smirk that could just barely be seen from the angle at which Bruce was standing. Bruce shook his head and steeled himself. Before Loki could continue, Bruce cleared his throat, interrupting him.

Both the petitioner and the king turned to look at him. In fact, it seemed that the entire court did, the great throne room falling into an unpleasant, tense silence.

_Okay, Banner. Just pretend you're teaching,_ Bruce thought. _You're talking to students. You know how to talk to students._

Boldly, he stepped forward, crossing onto the stylized runic engravings directly before the throne where petitioners stood. “Excuse me, but wasn't the southwest quadrant designated a protected zone from commercial activity? Um, for the span of five quarters of a millennium starting half a millennium ago.” Bruce managed a bow and hoped that it didn't look as awkward as it felt.

Keld darted a glare at Bruce, a nasty, poisonous look, and then it was as if suddenly the man remembered that Loki was watching. Keld tried to control his expressions, but it was already too late. Loki had noticed.

“Right you are, Bruce. Thank you for the information,” Loki nodded to Bruce graciously before turning his attention back to Keld, green eyes glinting malice. “I'm sorry, Lord Keld. Did you not have a chance to meet Bruce Banner? Called Doctor. We're rather close,” Loki's lips pursed as if he was trying to conceal a smile. 

Flustered and at a loss for words, Keld bowed deeply, and even from where Bruce stood he could see Keld trembling, face white with fear.

“It appears that this quadrant is a protected zone and should stay as such. And I think, Lord Keld, that perhaps this time you've overextended your requests to the throne. Chancellor of the Exchequer, I would like a full and thorough audit of Lord Keld's fishing rights and activities. I'm particularly interested in his off-world trading concerns. Lord Keld, you may go.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” This time the pronunciation of the title had a lot more respect in it or fear. Whichever one it was, it would do the job, Bruce thought. Red-faced, Keld stumbled out as fast as he could while maintaining what little dignity he had left.

As the mutters of shock died down through the court, Loki nodded to Sif, who stepped forward as Bruce stepped back.

“A pleasure to see you in court again, Lady Sif,” Loki seemed to sit straighter, and he dipped his head lightly to her in acknowledgment. “I see you've made a new friend.”

“I most certainly have, Your Majesty,” Sif glanced back and smiled at Bruce, a tense little motion of her lips. 

“What brings you to court today?” Loki was genuinely curious; he was almost leaning forward a little in his throne. There was a hush as people strained to listen.

Sif brought her clenched right fist to her breast. “Your Majesty, it has been a long time since we have had a Wild Hunt. I suggest that we go first thing tomorrow, to Vanaheim. It would be a pleasure to you and I, as well as our newest friend.”

She winked at Bruce. Flustered, Bruce glanced back at Loki.

The expression of pleasure that came over Loki's face was unmistakeable, and it took Loki a moment to master himself. He stood slowly, spear in hand, and the overall effect was to Bruce's eye a good combination of martial and regal. With his green cloak pooling around him and ceremonial armour glinting in the golden light, Loki was genuinely impressive.

“Lady Sif, I find that an excellent idea. Einherjar Captain! Assemble an honor guard of nine, and ready the preparations. Tomorrow, we hunt,” Loki proclaimed, pounding the butt of the spear against the ground thrice, and a very genuine, approving applause filled the room.

“All right, we're done here,” Sif murmured to Bruce under her breath as she came back. He nodded, and they left the throne room together, leaving a hum of gossip in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I looked over my notes on this chapter, all I could find of value was, "Bruce is totally doing math in his jam-jams, like some kind of college student."
> 
> The idea for Asgard's power source comes from an interpretation of the director's commentary from the first Thor movie.


	5. Chapter 5

It was snowing on Vanaheim. The pre-dawn light was cold and blue, and in the icy fog of morning, furred ice crystals swathed the evergreens in jagged coats. Bruce could tell that the air was bitterly cold just from breathing, but thankfully some property of the clothes kept him safely warm, though not comfortably so. He chafed his hands, shivering a little.

Loki offered Bruce his arm and Bruce took it, leaning close for warmth. Their footsteps broke through the crust of ice that formed over the softer snow underneath, and they supported each other, each helping the other stay balanced as their footsteps sank unevenly in the snow.

“Huh. Does every alien planet look like England or British Columbia? Or New Zealand.”

“Just this one. And not all of it, of course. This is merely a region of Vanaheim known for its game preserves. Jotenheim is an icy wasteland, and Svartalfheim is a rocky wasteland.” 

“You've been to those places before?”

“I've been to all of the Nine Realms,” Loki said lightly, “Though I think Mother would not have approved of us sneaking off to Svartelfheim when we were boys. We used to try to seek relics of the ancient battles that took place there, but it was so long ago that even the metals were too corroded to bother and the bones crumbled to nothing.”

“Wow, that redefines sneaking out. Wasn't it dangerous?”

“Of course we had weapons and magic and so forth,” Loki waved it off. “Besides, my insurance was always to tell one of the guards, just in case. One amenable to me, of course. I like excitement, but I'm not completely stupid. I'd rather get bailed out of a bad situation than be dead with my dignity.”

“Good choice.” 

Loki led him into a stone-hewn lodge where a fire roared in the great fireplace and breakfast was being served. The others were already there, eating or checking their gear. Sif waved to him from across the great hall where she she was inspecting sharpened javelins. Fandral was at her side, talking animatedly, but about what Bruce could not tell. Nine guards, equipped in armour that looked less ornate than their court gear and more practical were posted about the hall. A handful of nobles that Bruce mostly didn't recognize were sitting down to the morning meal. However, one of them was the conservative graybeard from the first day who had argued with Loki, and who Bruce could now identify as Lord Lothur, Lord High Chancellor of Asgard, the highest ranking of the councillors and obviously powerful enough to reprimand Loki without fear of reprisal.

They ate quickly and headed out, meeting in the snow-dusted courtyard. It had stopped snowing by the time the horses were brought around and the fog lifted a little, enough to give them about a mile of visibility. Bruce took the reins of a bay gelding from the stableboy and checked the girth strap for tightness; as he looked up, he caught more than a few pairs of eyes watching him, including Sif and Lord Lothur, and he wondered if they were waiting for him to mess up or make a fool out of himself. Grateful this was one thing he knew how to do, he mounted neatly, without help, and tried to ignore the curious stares. Soon the entire hunting party was mounted and riding out into the forest, horses expertly weaving through the trees. Bruce hadn't ridden in decades but it seemed he hadn't lost the knack for it.

“You're doing well, Bruce.” Loki pulled up alongside him as they slowed their horses to a walk in an open meadow. “I'm surprised; I didn't know you could ride.”

“Thanks,” Bruce replied. “I didn't either.” Easier to be self-deprecating than admit to learning how to ride in those first few weeks of foster care as a boy, when he was housed with a rancher's family for one long, hot summer. He had mostly forgotten the experience, but it seemed his body had never forgotten the motion of riding. Bruce gritted his teeth, banishing the memory with the fierce beauty of Vanaheim, the deep snow-blanketed evergreen forests, the distant mountains low on the horizon.

One of the trackers met them at the edge of a field where the dead, dry fruiting stalks of winter-killed plants brushed against their knees with a faint and hollow rattle. The tracker gave them some direction; it was decided that Loki would lead and take the first kill. There was a shrill whistling sound, like the cry of an unknown bird of prey, and then suddenly they were off again, this time at a pounding gallop as a massive elk sprang forth from the forest, about half again as large as any elk Bruce had ever seen before.

Shaggy-coated, flared nostrils streaming steam, its white-tipped antlers seemingly glazed with ice, the elk dashed madly away and it seemed that half the fun was trying to hang onto the horse while they charged through the fields, snow billowing up all around in powdery plumes. As it turned, heading toward a frozen marsh, Loki's charger sprang forth and he drew close enough to shoot. Loki stood in his stirrups, knees bent, and with a sharp twist of his body, sent the javelin through the side of the elk, straight into its heart. It ran for one step more, two steps, from sheer momentum, and then suddenly collapsed, tumbling through the drifts, its blood spilling crimson on the immaculate white snow.

A round of applause went around as the riders slowed to a halt, and Loki nodded graciously. Attendants came and dealt with the carcass, and they stopped to rest their horses.

“Here, take mine.” Bruce handed Loki his javelin; he had no intention of hunting anything and just as Loki accepted the javelin with a smirk, there were whistles and laughter all around. 

“What's so funny?” Bruce asked when he found that even Loki himself was laughing.

“It's a very...how shall I put it...suggestive gesture to offer someone your javelin. There is a significant and rather erotic phrase relating to being the spearbearer,” Loki's eyes were bright with amusement, and Bruce couldn't help but smile; it had been a long time since he had seen Loki this relaxed.

“You could have warned me.”

“Yes, I could have. But I didn't.” Loki winked at him. Nudging his horse forward, closer to Bruce, he leaned in and whispered in Bruce's ear, “Thank you for being such a good sport.”

“Of course. I'll do you one better.” Bruce leaned over to kiss Loki on the cheek, but his horse shifted restlessly and Bruce missed, brushing Loki's lips instead. There was more laughter, and Bruce drew back, hoping that he wasn't blushing. 

Loki chuckled, a dark, rich sound. “Is that a promise?” His voice was low, pitched so that only Bruce could hear.

Now Bruce was sure he was blushing. “I, uh..”

Before he could reply, the attendants rushed around with the elk's freshly slaughtered liver, steaming in the cold air, and Bruce was given a morsel.

Hot, bloody, and it seemed that it still had the pulse of life in it. He chewed slowly, and was briefly overcome by the memory of the past and the promise of the future, the other guy stirring in appreciation inside of him.

 

As the hunt continued, Bruce began getting a sense of how the system worked. The trackers would signal back to the party when they found game, flushing it out for the hunting party to chase. He guessed that there was some kind of hierarchy to the order of the hunters. Lord Lothur claimed the next beast, a bear-like creature whose liver was, as Fandral put it, was too toxic to bother with.

As the attendants dealt with the beast, the majority of the party dismounted and were watering the horses along the edge of a river when Sif suddenly rode up. 

“Loki, something's wrong. There is something burning somewhere close by and it's more than just wood,” she said, pointing in the direction of the smoke. It could be barely seen through the gauzy haze of fog, but it was unmistakeable once it was pointed out, a massive black plume rising in the distance.

“Thank you, Sif,” Loki looked at the distant smoke with a considering eye. “We had better take a look.” The party mounted up again and Loki called for the guard to flank the party on both sides. As they rode closer to the source of the smoke, the choking stench of burning filled the air, and then when they heard the screams, Loki kicked his horse into a hard gallop, the others following behind.

“Marauders, Your Majesty!” A tracker rode hard toward them; he had gone in search of prey and instead found carnage. “A horde numbering over a hundred!” 

“You heard the man,” Loki shouted. “Let's clean up this rabble. For Asgard!”

“For Asgard!” The voices of the hunters rose in a jubilant chorus, and they rode hard toward battle. Bruce kept pace but slowed down his horse a little, hanging toward the back of the hunting party. This wasn't his fight; he should stay out of the way. If someone asked, he thought, he'd plead the unarmed thing and go with that. However, he followed, close enough to keep an eye on things but not close enough to be in the thick of things.

The hunters rode into the town center. The inhabitants were running in panic, screaming as heavily armoured figures tore through the streets, slaughtering anyone too slow to run, going from house to house looting and taking anything of value before torching it.

As the Asgardians rode in, the marauders turned their attention to the interlopers; they dropped what valuables they had managed to grab and began amassing for a fight. 

“Shit,” Bruce muttered, his horse shying under him from the scent of blood and smoke; judging from the raiders streaming out of the buildings, the Asgardians were outnumbered by a factor of something between four and six. The marauders formed a big, heavily-armed raiding party and they themselves were a small hunting party, just twenty-seven men and women, only nine of them guards, all lightly armed and armoured for hunting, not for war.

“For Asgard! Protect the Vanir!” Loki's voice rose above the fray, and raising the javelin as he had when he was hunting, hurled it with deadly accuracy through the eye of a massive beast, a raider that seemed to be made out of stone and clay; a living, breathing golem that roared its displeasure, tramping through the crowd of marauders around it.

“Asgard! Vanir!” The battle cry was caught up by the others, and suddenly, dismounted horses were on the run, causing chaos as they dashed through the hordes of marauders, heading away from the battle. Sif had leapt off of her mount to fight with javelin and sword, one in each hand. Fandral had done the same, hurling his javelin through the arms of two marauders at once, pinning them to the heavy wooden door of a building before drawing his rapier, fending off attacks with lightning quick thrusts and parries.

Heart pounding, hands shaking with nerves, Bruce hesitated for a moment before dismounting; he gave the horse a sharp slap to its rump, and it ran away. Just in case; he thought. Trying to assess the situation, he paused; was this his fight to join? Could he even control the other guy? It had been years since he had been that other self, more than half a decade. The last time, he had such incredible control; it was as if he could calculate every joule of centripetal acceleration as his great, hulking body swung through the air, the vector quantity of every crushing punch. But this time, could he...

Bruce's head snapped up; he had been lost in thought too long and had lost sight of Loki in the milling crowd. Loki who he knew was armed only with small throwing daggers now that he had used his javelin. The Asgardians had been pushed back into a knot, surrounded on all sides. He could pick out the figure of Lord Lothur shouting imprecations as he swung a golden battleaxe. The golem was closer than it had been before; it swung its arms down toward a crowd of golden Einherjar helmets and Bruce gasped, somewhere down in that swarming melee of marauders and guards was a flicker of a gem-green cloak.

“Loki... Loki!” A snap of panic went through him and Bruce let himself go with it and with it came a sudden release of that familiar anger, a long-built-up tension that cascaded through every bone and muscle and tendon and sinew and then the world was suddenly turning that weird, sickly shade of green as his vision briefly changed and then...

 

“Loki!” A giant's roar. Lots of work to do. Force equals mass times acceleration. More mass now. Factor in acceleration. Force directly proportional. 

Second derivative. Third for jerk.

First men to fight. Get out of the way. Crush. Smash. Toss away.

Head into crowd. Get out of the way. Breaking bones snap like dry sticks. Much shouting. Such running. Less to fight is too bad.

Bad, bad. Dislike swords. Annoying pokes. Grab one by blade and throw so hard it goes through a tree.

Red cloak girl smiles. Nice girl with shiny sword. No annoying pokes. Help her before she goes? No, she needs no help.

Arrows, fire, bullets, rockets. Good try, not good enough. Brush off little matchsticks and pebbles. Nothing hurts.

Wade through crowd. Push, push, push. Go. Gold helmets good. Protect. Get out of the way. Gentle nudge to get them moving. My turn.

Golem. Get away from mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Mine!”

Push the rocks. Grapple. Punch the rocks. Struggle. Knock the rocks down. Fight. Crush the rocks. Crush into dust. 

Get to work. Lots of work to do.

Right fist left fist right fist left fist right fist left fist right fist left fist...

 

“Right...left...right...” Bruce mumbled, and then he came to with a gasp. “Shit.” He ached all over in an unpleasantly familiar way, so he started to assess where he was and how he got there. He was lying on a bed, wrapped in something that felt like a blanket. In the darkness of the room he couldn't quite see what it was or where he was.

“Good. You're awake.” He could hear Loki's footsteps on the stone floor; Loki drew the curtain open and a weak, wintry light seeped in. He made an elegant motion with his hand and a fire sprang up in the fireplace, warming the room. Compared to Asgard, the wood-paneled bedroom was small and cozy.

“What happened? How long was I out? Did I...” Bruce sat up, realizing he had been wrapped in Loki's cloak, which slipped off his bare shoulders. Bruce looked as his hands; they were covered in coarse stone dust. He slumped back down onto the bed. “I did, didn't I?”

“Oh yes.” Loki sat down beside Bruce; the quilt was lovingly handstitched and Bruce was embarrassed to get dust and pebbles all over the clean bedding.

“Where are we?”

“Back at the hunting lodge.” Loki plucked a pebble out of Bruce's hair, and then another one. “We called it a day after the battle. It seems like you missed most of it after we won.”

“Oh good. I'm glad we won. But wait...what happened?” Bruce closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head a little. The last thing he remembered was slapping the rump of his horse.

“You don't remember? What a shame. Oh, you were majestic. You became the beast.” Loki touched the center of Bruce's chest with the tip of his index finger. “Plowed through waves of marauders, with devastating effect, as I was told. Incapacitated more than a few. Threw a giant blade through a tree. Survived a massive volley of projectile fire. There were some other things, but I didn't see it; you'll have to ask Sif and Fandral. You saved me from that stone monster, and then...”

“And then what?”

“You pounded it into dust,” Loki seemed to have a newfound appreciation for Bruce. “I didn't even know such a thing was possible. In the past, it took nearly an entire squadron of Einherjar to subdue a creature such as that one. Anyhow, after you broke the creature into large chunks, most of the marauders lost heart and began to retreat, which was when we gained control of the battlefield. But then you kept going...for a while. There really was no stopping you once you started.”

“Oh man...” Bruce covered his face with his hands. “Then what?”

“Eventually you stopped when I came over. By then you had reduced the creature to mostly bits no bigger than this,” Loki plucked another pebble from Bruce's hair and showed it to him before tossing it into the fireplace. “So perhaps you were done anyway, and my arrival and the cessation of your pounding fists was merely a coincidence.”

“And then?”

“You embraced me and called me yours,” Loki smiled, leaning over for a kiss. “It was quite touching.”

“Everyone saw?”

“Everyone.”

“Wait.” Bruce reassessed himself, and then double checked by briefly folding back the cloak. It was exactly as he felt; he was completely naked. “What happened to my clothes?”

“They all came off when you transformed,” Loki couldn't help but grin.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“The pants didn't stay on, did they?”

“Everything came off. You were quite gloriously nude. Let me just add that it was an incredible sight to behold.”

“So everyone...”

“Oh yes, they saw everything. All of it. You were magnificent, Bruce. You strip down like a god when you're the beast. Everyone's quite impressed with you; they're throwing a victory party later tonight in your honor. We'll go back to Asgard for it, of course.” Loki put his arm around Bruce's shoulder. “You'll need a bath first anyhow; you're filthy.”

“Wait, what about the Vanir we saved? And the marauders?”

“The Vanir are safe; I sent additional guards from Asgard to protect their town and there are plans in progress for putting out the fire and rebuilding. As for the marauders we captured, they have been put to the sword. The rest will be hunted down and dealt with accordingly.”

“You weren't kidding about restoring Asgard's might...” Bruce's breath caught. “Did...did they deserve it?”

“They killed almost a third of the townsfolk before we got there. Men, women, and children.” Loki caught his eye. “They made their choices.”

“Right.” They could debate the ethics of extrajudicial killings another time. Bruce swung his legs off the bed and he winced.

“Are you all right?”

“It's been a while since I've done this. I forgot how sore everything gets.” Bruce stood with a grimace. “It's all right; it's not that bad. It'll go away soon.”

“Well. Why don't we do something about the rocks first.” Loki took him by his shoulders, and there was a little weird moment when suddenly all the dust and rocks slipped off of him, falling to the floor with a clatter. He remembered Loki had done this once, years ago, with water.

“How...how did you do that? And don't just say magic.”

“It's magic. Easy magic,” Loki ran his hands over Bruce's chest. “Just a tiny displacement, like giving you a little push in many directions at once, but the rocks stay in place. Once you're not in the same place as you were before...well, it falls away.”

“Huh.” Bruce wondered at the physics of it; it must have happened on a much more micro scale than whatever he had initially imagined. “Thank you.” 

“We have some time before we're expected back in Asgard.” Loki drew Bruce back to sit on the bed. “Why don't you let me take care of you?”

“I...I'm fine.” But then Loki's hands, deceptively delicate with those long elegant fingers but strong and firm, kneaded his shoulders and Bruce moaned at the aching pleasure of it.

“That says otherwise. Lie down,” Loki folded back the quilt and guided Bruce down, drawing the dusty cloak away, tossing it aside.

Bruce closed his eyes, letting Loki lead the way. Strong hands kneaded his shoulders, his back. He tried to stay quiet, but he couldn't help it; it felt good.

“How long has it been,” Loki asked, his breath tickling against Bruce's shoulder blade, “Since you've let anyone touch you like this.”

“I...I don't know. I don't remember.” A sinking feeling went through Bruce as he realized that he really couldn't remember a time when he had willingly let someone else touch him so intimately, not since... He shook his head, trying to remember and then realized with faint horror that for a tiny moment, he could not remember her name, even though he had loved her.

“It's a shame, truly.” Loki kissed the back of his neck, and his hands moved along Bruce's arms, long fingers trailing lightly and Bruce shivered with pleasure.

“Are you cold, Bruce?”

“A little. It's not bad.”

“Let me do something about that then.” And Bruce felt the bed shift as Loki climbed onto it, drawing the quilt over them. He kneaded the backs of Bruce's legs, and Bruce moaned against the pillow as Loki shifted, moving over him.

He kissed Bruce's shoulders, the side of his neck, and Bruce trembled, feeling his flesh twitch at the touch, but at the same time he wanted, wanted more. It was a deep longing, but even if he were asked he could not say what it was that he wanted. Bruce dug his fingers into the bedding.

“So tense, my Bruce. Please try to relax.” Loki ran his hands over Bruce's back caressingly, down to his lower back and along his hips, sliding over his buttocks and Bruce flinched. “Shhh.”

“Loki...” And he didn't know if he meant to tell Loki to stop or to tell him he wanted more.

“Bruce, it's all right.” And then before Bruce could say something, Loki's hand slipped between his legs and he gasped.

“Loki,” it was a sigh and a moan and something else altogether and before he could think, Loki stroked him hard with that clever, dextrous hand and his breath caught and his heart was pounding so much so he could hear that tidal rush in his ears and he could feel the press of fine wool against the bare skin of his back as Loki held him.

It was over, almost too soon. He came convulsively in Loki's hand, a strange desperate sound in his throat.

“It has been a while.” Loki gently turned him over, and kissed him tenderly.

“Yeah.” Bruce trembled, and it felt like every part of his body had become over-sensitized and he could feel the damp spot against his hip where he had...

“You can open your eyes now, Bruce.” And then he did, and there was Loki, with that little spark of humor and a genuine warmth in his eyes that Bruce rarely saw except when they were alone. It was as if he had forgotten that Loki could look like this, with an almost shy, soft smile on his lips.

“I didn't...” Bruce took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “I didn't think I could do even that much without...that other guy...”

“Well, it looks like you can. And more, I should say.” Loki drew him close and Bruce put his arms around him carefully.

“But what if...”

“It's all right. I think he likes me,” Loki chuckled. “And I'm rather fond of him too.”

“Even though...”

“Even though he's you? And let me just add that your other self is endowed with greater...gifts than any god I've seen before,” Loki teased, and Bruce could feel himself blushing.

“Seriously, Loki? Are we seriously talking about this?”

“Let's just say that sometimes in thick of battle, a man's blood is aroused to a fever pitch...” Loki kissed him and there was an edge of urgency in the kiss. “I wasn't displeased with what I saw. In fact--”

“You're insane. Wait, I was really? I really was in a state of--?”

“Yes. It was tremendous,” Loki's breath caught, and his eyes bright with something that was not just humor. “Sometime we'll have to go out in the wilderness somewhere away from people and towns and have it out.”

“Are you saying...?”

“That I am attracted to all facets of you and would have a go at your other self? Yes, in a heartbeat. If you were ready, I'd ask that we do it now,” Loki pressed himself against Bruce's hip, and he could feel Loki's erection through his clothes. “But I want to know you as you are first.”

“Loki...!” Aghast, Bruce tried to process it all; it never occurred to him that the other guy was anything but a carnage-wrecking, property-damaging monster.

“How hard is it to understand? I want you. All of you. Even the parts that you don't like,” Loki murmured into Bruce's hair, his hands running over Bruce's chest, and for a moment, Bruce didn't know what to say, because he had never expected to hear anything like that come out of someone's mouth, especially not since the accident. But then whatever Loki was doing with his hands and his mouth was making a persuasive argument that was so very clear.

“Yes.”

*****

Afterward, there was a long, silent intimacy where Bruce felt boneless, oddly detached from his thoughts. In time though, they intruded; he could never really be free from thinking too much. He wondered; had he said yes simply because Loki had wanted him? It felt like it had been a long time since anyone wanted him like this and despite his past concerns, it all seemed to work out without all the fuss or drama that he had imagined.

Loki had been gentle, careful even. Bruce hadn't thought he would ever let anyone touch him like that. If he thought of it the way he would have in the past, it was a disconcerting, even shameful. But then, this was to him a new world, with new paradigms. And what he was doing with Loki...he could not find anything to be ashamed of, not in love.

“Next time,” Loki had said, “I want you to do me,” and even though it had made Bruce tense up with nerves, it had sent a thrill of arousal through him. Despite understanding that sexuality existed in a spectrum, Bruce hadn't thought that he was attracted enough to men for this to work. But perhaps it wasn't so much an attraction to men in general as it was a specific attraction to Loki, who was strong, dangerous, and just about invulnerable despite his delicate beauty.

What they did...Bruce sighed. The world of physical intimacy and sex that for years he thought had been lost to him for good was here again, and realizing that made his heart hitch in a strange, unfamiliar way. Something that was both pain and longing, but perhaps more like the distant memory of pain and longing.

Loki dozed at his side and Bruce stroked his fingers over the bare, smooth skin of Loki's chest, so unlike his own. Manubrium, body, xiphoid process...

Loki's breath shifted as he woke. “Mmm, Bruce. We had ought to get going.”

“Probably.” But Bruce didn't move, closing his eyes.

“You need a bath before the party.”

“So do you.”

“I'm going to have to do something about getting you out of here. But you may not like it. Actually, you're probably going to argue with me over the method of extraction.”

“Yeah? Why's that?” Bruce mumbled, drowsy.

“You have no clothes. And it's snowing outside and growing colder by the hour.”

“Oh right. I forgot. That's a problem.” Yawning, forcing himself to wake up, Bruce leaned up on his elbow. “Proposal for a solution?”

“If you'll allow me...we'll wrap you up in my cloak and I'll carry you.”

“All the way back to Asgard?”

“All the way back to the palace,” Loki stroked his fingers through Bruce's hair, snagging a little on the curls but not enough to hurt. “You have neither shoes nor socks.”

“Any other options?”

“I could take off my clothes and you could try wearing them,” Loki chuckled. “I don't get cold easily.”

“Well. That's never going to work.” Bruce set both hands along the sides of Loki's slender waist. “Not unless your clothes stretch. I guess we don't have much of a choice.” Bruce sat up. “You know, now that you mention it, I've been wondering. Are all Asgardians...well, cold sometimes? Like you are. Sometimes. I'm not complaining; I'm just curious.”

Immediately he knew it was a bad question to ask; the gentle humor on Loki's face was gone, replaced by a guarded wariness. But then Loki sighed and drew closer to Bruce, who put his arm around him. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask something that would hurt you.”

“Truly...it didn't.” And Bruce knew that Loki was trying to be kind, because he had seen the flash of hurt in Loki's eyes. 

Bruce gave Loki's shoulder a squeeze. “Don't tell me anything you don't want to.”

“No. Someone...someone should know.” Loki sat up and leaned against Bruce, dark hair tousled about his shoulders and Bruce brushed a stray strand from Loki's face.

“In truth...and I have never told anyone, though I think Mother knows...in truth I can be called Odinson,” he began, but then had to stop for a moment, searching for the right words. “But in truth I can also be called Laufeyson.”

“Laufey?” The name sounded familiar. Bruce's eyes narrowed thoughtfully and suddenly he remembered it from something he had read. “The...wait, the king of the frost giants?”

“It's taken years to piece together the truth, for I did not know the right questions to ask. As far as I can tell, my existence came from a clever stratagem that helped the All-Father stall the war with Jotunheim for almost a year.” Loki laughed bitterly. “With magic, he took on the form of a frost giant and seduced the king. Of course, frost giants are a little different biologically; they may take the form of either sex at will. And so...Asgard gained a little breathing space. Odin, however, in time, took back what was his. Or perhaps stole what was not his. It's hard to say. I suppose either or both are true.”

“How do you know for sure?” Bruce put his arm around Loki's waist, giving him a squeeze.

“Oh Bruce, a test for parentage is not so hard to come by. I didn't know the truth of it myself until a few years before we met. In fact, the only people who know anything close to the real truth of it are probably Odin and Mother. Were I to guess, Thor and I were born a few days apart at the most. And I the elder. Passed off with subtle illusions during my brother's birth as his younger twin.”

“Oh. Um...”

Loki met his eyes. “That doesn't quite mean what you're thinking. It wasn't as though the All-Father went from Mother's bed to Laufey's or the other way around. I think the gestation time for frost giants is a little longer though I've never bothered to look it up. But...somehow I think it may have been planned this way.” Loki closed his eyes, his hands covering his face. “Even as he lied about the details, it was planned all along by Odin, who then made everyone else accept it.”

“Your mother.” 

“Is not my mother in truth.” Loki hugged himself. “Ever since I found out...ever since I pieced together the truth...”

Bruce said nothing, giving Loki time to work it through.

“Really.” Loki sighed. “Often I've wished that I really was hers.”

“You are. You are her son. Her true son.” Bruce put his arm around Loki's shoulder, gripping him tight. “She loves you. Even I could see that.”

“So she says.” Loki's eyes were distant and then Bruce remembered something, something that Sif had said. _He killed our greatest foe and crippled the realm of our greatest enemies_.

“And Laufey...?”

“A stranger to me. A stranger who meant nothing to me, a monster I had to kill for the good of Asgard. I met him only twice. And he is dead, by my scheming and by my hand.”

“Oh.”

“Perhaps I should have told you all this before, that I am not as I appear. And then you could have decided more carefully if you still wanted me, tainted as I am. But...well, I wanted a chance at you first,” Loki smiled, and there was something dark and cruel in the curve of his lips, something disturbing in his eyes.

“Loki. I don't regret what I chose to do and I don't regret what we did together. Neither should you. Besides, you're not the only one who's done some bad things,” Bruce shook his head, choking on his own memories of the past. 

“No?”

“No. Listen. I've never told anyone this.” Bruce took Loki's hand, twining their fingers together. “Not the judge. Not the attorney, the police, my case worker. Not the therapists they sent me to for years when I was a kid,” Bruce sighed. “I've never told anyone this. That I'm the reason why my mother is dead.”

“Bruce?”

“I told her she should leave my father. I convinced her. But not because I wanted things better for her. I just wanted him to stop hitting me. I thought if we left then everything would be better. I didn't think he'd...” And the words were still hard to say, even after so many long years, “...beat her to death.”

Loki's breath caught. “Oh Bruce. I'm sorry.”

“You know...that was a long time ago. And that kid. That kid I used to be. For my own sake I had to forgive him even though it took me most of my life to learn that I should. Because it wasn't really his fault. He was just trying to survive. So maybe...maybe we're in it together. Bad parts and good. It might not be the same as what you've done, but I've done shitty selfish things too that sometimes keeps me from sleeping at night. And that kid you were...that person you were. You should try to forgive him. He was just trying to do what he thought was best at the time. Even if maybe it didn't turn out to be the best decision.”

Long fingers absently wiped away tears and Loki rested his chin against his free hand, his other hand flexing thoughtfully in Bruce's grip.

After a few long minutes, Bruce gave Loki's hand a squeeze. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yes, thank you. Of course.” Loki managed a smile. “Of course I'm fine.”

“So don't we have a party to get to? And you were going to carry me through the snow.”

“Yes, that's right.” Loki took a long, shuddering breath and straightened up. “Returning to Asgard: a conquering hero with the tamed beast.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

“I can't wait to carry you over the threshold.”

“You know, on Earth...Midgard, that's what people do when they get married.”

“Here it's a sign that you're a spoil of war,” Loki grinned. “I suppose it could be a minor scandal, depending on who sees us.”

“Let's not let anyone see us then. Can't you make us invisible or something?”

“I can make myself invisible. I can perhaps make you not extremely obvious.”

Bruce got up out of bed and shivering, wrapped himself up in Loki's discarded cloak. But before Loki could take him up in his arms, Bruce drew him close for a firm embrace.

“You know I'm here for you, right?” Bruce kissed Loki's hair. “Whatever the past was...it's over. From here on out, we worry about how to be good for the future.”

“Thank you, Bruce.” Loki held him tight for a long, silent moment, and then his grip shifted. “Now...” Loki scooped Bruce up in his arms and Bruce was startled at how easily it was accomplished, as if Loki was merely picking up a child. A small child.

“Whoa. I was not ready for this. Wait, how strong are you? How did I not know this?”

“Oh, the Aesir are all like this,” Loki carried him out of the room and downstairs, into the thankfully empty great hall. “We're made of much tougher stuff than Midgardians.”

“Aesir? You mean Asgardians?”

“Not exactly. The Aesir are those of us of the original stock of Asgard, the people of Buri and their descendants. As well the Vanir, people such as Mother who we warred with when she was a girl. Those called Asgardians these days are a mix of many different people from different realms that live on Asgard. There are many who are descended from giants, dwarves, elves...there are even a rare few that are descended from dark elves, if you would believe it. The Aesir proper are different. It's a subtle distinction.”

“I think I get it. I mean, I'm from America...”

“Yes, well. I suppose there are analogies to be drawn.” Loki paused at the main door, where a few lone guards were on duty. “Bruce, are you ready?”

“Not really, but just go.” Bruce tightened his grip on Loki's shoulders.

The guards opened the door for them and Loki stepped out, his footsteps sinking into the accumulating snow. The wind cut through the cloak like a knife, but Loki moved quickly, running fast, and soon enough they were gone through the Bifrost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even when he can't grammar, Bruce can physics. The derivatives have to do with calculus.
> 
> Regarding Loki's parentage, I think that what Loki believes, what Odin has said, and what the actual truth is are probably all different things. Somehow I don't think anyone knows what really happened except maybe Odin and Laufey. But it plays on the idea that Loki as a baby changed immediately to Odin's touch (recognizing his own blood?) and was “small, for a giant's offspring...abandoned...left to die.” If what Loki has said is true, it is indicative of Odin refusing to acknowledge that he had fathered a son on his enemy. If what Odin has said is true, then it justifies denying Loki his presumed birthright. Either way, belief and truth may not always agree.


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh no. No more layers.” There was a new set of clothes laid out for Bruce once he was out of the bath, this time with even more pieces of armour that went along with it, almost as much as Loki's or Fandral's or Sif's. Bruce finally noticed that the shade of green that would peek through the armour, the same shade as his previous set, was the same color as the other guy. Bruce ran his hands through his damp hair.

“Loki. I see what you did here with the clothes. Your attention to detail is really impressive, but I really wish you'd use your powers for good instead of evil.” No response. Loki, who was in the other room washing up probably didn't even hear him. Bruce sighed and dressed; it wasn't as hard as the first few times and this time he easily managed the armour by himself. Even though he had a few more pieces to deal with, once mastered, the fastenings were surprisingly easy to navigate.

It felt strange not only have so many people know his secret, but to literally wear it on his sleeve, Bruce thought, as he adjusted his vambraces and that flash of green showed against the burnished armour. Back home there had been a very clever ruse with Stark and a supposed 'Stark Industries Hulk Suit' that had mostly kept his secret safe; there were only a tiny handful of people who were really in the know. Here, by now it could be the entirety of Asgard. And maybe Vanaheim as well.

Bruce wasn't sure what would happen now that his secret was no more, especially since he had been in Asgard barely a week. Perhaps they appreciated the help during battle, but he had completely lost control of the other guy, letting himself be nothing more than a beast. So this would be a polite and cautious reception where he'd be gently ostracized; he was honestly surprised that the guardian of the Bifrost had even let him back into Asgard after all that. Maybe it was all Loki's doing, Loki's influence that was keeping his people in line, forcing them to accept the man who was also a monster. Even now it was as though he could already feel the cold, fearful eyes following his every movement. Perhaps there was a cage already being made, just in case.

Bruce sighed and wondered how he could plead out of this party and stay in Loki's suite. Or better yet, go back to his house in the desert, ideally for the rest of his life. But before he could come up with any reasoned arguments, Loki entered the room, clean and dressed so handsomely that it made Bruce briefly lose track of what he was thinking.

“What was it that you were saying about good and evil, Bruce?”

“It's nothing. I was being silly. Is there anything I need to know before we go to this party?”

“Not really. Just enjoy yourself.” 

“Is there...any way I can opt out? I'm a little tired...”

“Nonsense, everyone is expecting you. After all, you're the guest of honor. You'll have fun, I swear. The food's always good,” and then Loki launched into an anecdote about another post-hunting party, one from the past where he and his friends had fought great monsters in the back country of Alfheim.

Bruce nodded, listening, but there was a sinking sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. He took Loki's offered arm and wished that he could find a way to refuse.

*****

Of course they were late. Loki had probably planned it so, to be fashionably late as the saying went. Bruce was utterly unprepared for the reception they received, or rather, he had steeled himself for hostility, and reality was the exact opposite of what he had imagined.

They stepped out of a set of double doors onto a great terrace overlooking the city and the sea below. The sun was just setting, the sky livid with fiery, red-streaked clouds. Torches were being lit all around as darkness fell. The scent of meat roasting over open fires filled the air, and servants bustled around carrying trays of food and drinks.

As they arrived there was a burst of loud applause. People cheered loudly and Bruce was taken aback.

“Um, so is this normal for a barbeque?” Bruce turned to Loki, but then before Loki could answer, Lord Lothur appeared before them. It seemed that he had been waiting for them, loitering near the doorway, and Bruce couldn't help but feel as though it were an ambush.

“Loki.”

“Lord Lothur.” Loki tilted his head politely, as befit their respective stations. 

“Given all the trouble you've caused over the years, I wasn't certain that your recent decisions were wise. But perhaps this time I was in error. I admit that you perhaps had some logical reasons for bringing your...your Midgardian friend to Asgard.”

“Thank you, Chancellor.” Loki's face was polite and his expressions carefully controlled.

“And you: Dr. Banner.” Lord Lothur turned his attention to Bruce; he had never addressed Bruce directly until now.

“Um, yes? Lord Lothur?” And Bruce could feel that unsettled, sickly feeling in his stomach. This was it, he was going to be told to leave. There would be a special session of court with all the councillors in agreement and Loki would put up a nasty fight, but in the end the councillors would force Loki's hand, but instead maybe he could bypass all the politically damaging trouble for Loki by asking the guardian directly to send him home and--

“Thank you for saving my nephew.” Lord Lothur awkwardly shook Bruce's hand, as if he had just learned how to do it from second-hand information, like a description from a book. Just as Bruce was trying to decide if he was supposed to nod or bow or something else, the elder statesman turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Bruce sighed, almost light-headed with relief, and it was as if all the pressure and anxiety that had been gnawing at him were beginning to fall away.

“I...uh. I didn't know he was your uncle?”

“Yes, well, I do have a few. This one is Odin's youngest brother. Lothur, called Ve. But no one calls him Ve anymore; Lothur was a nickname from childhood that stuck. Or perhaps it was the other way around, I don't recall exactly.”

“Bruce!” Fandral maneuvered through the gathering crowd, finding him almost right away, and for a moment Bruce froze, thoroughly expecting to be shunned or at best, treated like an oddity. Instead, Fandral was even friendlier than before, putting his arm around Bruce's shoulder, the metal of their armour clashing almost musically. “Bruce Banner, my newest comrade-in-arms! Such a powerful warrior! Thank goodness you were with us today, you really saved our hides. Loki, you scoundrel, hiding such an unassuming treasure from all of us.”

“Fandral. As if you'd believe me if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes. You would have thought it a trick,” Loki grinned. He and Fandral exchanged some mock-punches as though they were still boys.

“The great trick this time was keeping him under wraps. I really could not believe it when he waded in and marauders went flying through the air...”

Bruce stared, unbelieving, as Loki and Fandral relived some moments from the afternoon's battle. Yes, this was culture shock. This was exactly the feeling of worldview skewing that he remembered experiencing in Calcutta, except there it wasn't in any way related to an outright acceptance of his condition that he had barely achieved for himself.

“Anyway, Bruce. I wanted to catch you before your other admirers took hold of you.” Fandral caught Bruce's eye. “Will you do me a the honor of meeting my children, in particular my youngest?”

“Are you really sure you want me around kids?” Bruce laughed nervously. “I mean, you saw what I did.”

“Oh, I saw. I saw almost every moment of your fight. It was incredible. Anyone would want their son or daughter to grow up strong and brave, unsurpassed in battle.” 

“And...and a monster-destroying beast?” Bruce was incredulous.

“Yes, why not? We rather admire berserker rages in the height of battle, if you didn't know that already.”

“But what if I...”

“You're not thinking to fight now, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“So come. Just for a few minutes.”

At that, Bruce had nothing else to say.

“Go,” Loki waved to Bruce. “I'll leave you to your admirers for a bit. That way they can't accuse me of keeping you all to myself.”

Before Bruce could argue the point, Fandral guided them through the throngs of people at the party. Fandral quickly found his wife, a red-headed beauty with long flowing locks, cradling an infant in her arms. There was a cluster of children around her, all looking up at him with admiring eyes.

“Bruce, this is Hilde. My baby daughter, Gida.” Fandral continued, introducing the rest of the other children; oldest son, oldest daughter...Bruce quickly lost track of all the names and ages, though they were all young, probably under ten years old if he were to guess.

“Pleased to meet you,” Bruce bowed politely.

“You remember the stories I told you about Bruce, right? From today?” Fandral smiled to his children. “Well, here's the real person, just as promised.”

Immediately, Bruce was swarmed by little kids, five in all, some of whom clung to his legs, all of whom barraged him with questions about the other guy that he couldn't answer, and he wasn't sure what to do until Fandral waded in and handed him the tiny Gida before he could protest.

Scant strawberry-blonde curls and deep, blue-gray eyes that looked up to him in wonder, and Bruce suddenly realized that he had never held a baby before. Even in Calcutta he only saw adult patients. He realized then that it had been a very long time since he had seen a child even from a distance.

“I don't know what I'm supposed to do,” Bruce felt himself trembling; he knew theoretically what he was supposed to do, supporting the head and neck, holding her close, but theory didn't feel like enough to go by, especially because he was afraid he'd hurt her against his armour. “What am I supposed to do?” She was tiny, so small and light that it scared Bruce a little as to how fragile she felt in his hands.

“You're doing fine,” Fandral smiled and took the hand of his wife, giving her hand a squeeze. “Look, she likes you.”

“I...” And the baby had wrapped her tiny hand around his index finger, and he could feel the pulse of her heart beneath his palm, warm and vibrant.

“Gida...” Bruce said softly, amazed, and the baby looked up at him with bright, curious eyes. She gripped his finger tightly suddenly, and it was a fierce, strong grip that hurt so much that it made his eyes water.

“Ow...” 

“There you are.” Sif shook her head. “Exactly where I thought I'd find you, mobbed by Fandral's horde.”

“It's not a horde,” Fandral protested.

“Not yet a horde, you mean. Give it time,” Sif mock-glared at him, and they both laughed.

“Come on, Bruce. Let's go before one of them pukes up on you,” Sif smiled warmly, ruffling the tousled blond hair of the eldest of the little boys.

“Sure.” Carefully, gently, Bruce kissed the baby on its forehead, and handed it back to its father. “Thank you, Fandral. I... I really...I liked...” Bruce trailed off, awkwardly, lacking the words to express his thanks.

“No, thank you, Bruce.” Delighted, Fandral took the baby back, and there was a murmur of appreciation all around, as if Bruce had blessed the baby. “Sometime you'll have to come to visit my home.”

“Sure.” In a daze, Bruce let Sif lead him away.

 

“Well? Having fun yet?” Sif nudged him with her forearm, their vambraces clinking gently.

“Um, this is not what I expected,” Bruce confessed to Sif as they headed away from Fandral and his family.

“No? What did you expect?”

“To get run out of town on a rail? By which I mean--”

“Yes, I understand the meaning even if I have never heard the phrase.” Sif nodded. “The nature of the All-Tongue, remember?”

“Right.” Bruce said weakly. “I mean, it's not like you're speaking English. Even though it sounds like that to me. And vice versa.”

“Yes, exactly. Now, why would you think we'd want to be rid of you?” Sif was genuinely curious.

“Well.” Bruce gestured absently. “You know. That whole thing. Earlier this afternoon. With the marauders and the fight and...” Bruce shrugged, uncomfortable.

“Oh, you mean...your other self. Why would we do that? We haven't had a great champion in Asgard since...” Sif frowned, looking away. “Never mind. Look, just accept that here we have a high regard for strength and prowess in battle. We are bred to it and suckled on it; it is our way of life.”

“What if...what if I had hurt someone? What if I had hurt...you?” Bruce frowned. “I can't always...”

“You didn't. And you won't. There is truly nothing to be upset over. You can't worry about what didn't happen in a fight,” Sif patted his back firmly. “Whatever happened, happened. Now come, there are many who wish to meet you, and you had better eat while you still can.”

They found Loki and sat down to an informal dinner of grilled meat from the day's hunt and roasted root vegetables and greens, followed by fresh berries and a sweet, starchy fruit that had been cooked on an open fire. Throughout dinner, people kept coming over to make their acquaintance; after a while it was getting difficult to eat without being impolite. No wonder Loki was looking like he had lost weight, Bruce thought. If meals were mainly social affairs like this, Loki would barely have time to eat before getting swamped. Mead, wine, and beer flowed freely; all around, people were starting to get drunk after the food and things were getting loud and raucous.

A servant kept Bruce's cup filled; this time with some sort of chilled tea that tasted like flowers and had the same color and consistency as mead, though without the alcohol. Bruce couldn't help but feel pleased at Loki's planning and consideration; it kept people from asking more questions about himself that he was not particularly interested in answering.

Eventually, at least at the long table he was sitting at, the conversation turned from individual clumps of dinner conversation to loud public tales of battle, rehashing fights old and new, and once Bruce saw the pattern to the talk, half-braggadocio, half-discussion of tactics, he excused himself and headed inside.

The hallways were empty but for the guards and a few roving servants. It was about as alone as he was going to get without making a full retreat to Loki's rooms. So he found an empty niche along the great corridor and sat down on the floor, trying to relax, trying to mentally compose, to concoct some kind of plausible story about the other guy to tell his adoring fans. He wasn't doing very well.

“It can't be simple, can it?” He muttered to himself, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, and then looked up just in time to see a servant stop before him.

“Excuse me, Dr. Banner?” The servant bowed, it was an older man, in the drab, unremarkable clothing that marked his status, with a pleasant, refined manner that suggested he was a consummate professional, an old family servant.

“Oh. Sorry!” Bruce scrambled to his feet. “Uh, can I help you?”

“Pardon me, but the Queen requests your presence, sir.” 

“Yes, of course.” 

The servant lead him a short distance down the hall, out to another terrace that was unattached to the one where the party was being held, around the deep curve of the palace where it could not be seen. Faintly, he could hear the sounds of the party, conversation and laughter punctuated by the occasional smashing of a glass. Lamps burned, casting the stonework in a warm, pleasant glow.

The queen was standing at the railing, and Bruce bowed deeply and respectfully; he knew it was a great honor for her to meet with him again so soon.

Frigga sat at a nearby bench and gestured for him to sit beside her. The view looked over the sea, and there were tiny boats bobbing in the distance, dots of light on the black water.

“Tell me, Bruce, is my son having a good time?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We had dinner and now he's drinking and telling stories with everyone. I can't really speak for him, but at a guess I think he's had fun pretty much all day. Maybe even when he was fighting marauders,” Bruce smiled to himself, remembering the wood-paneled room in Vanaheim.

“Good. It seems like it's been such a long time since he's been happy.” Frigga sighed. “I've worried for him for so long. I was afraid that he'd never be my boy again, my sweet, clever son.”

“I think sometimes he's afraid that he was never your boy,” Bruce ventured, and then Frigga caught his eye with a fierce look.

“You should tell him that he's wrong. I will tell him he's wrong.”

“I did.” Bruce met her eyes, deeply and intensely blue. “But he's stubborn.”

“He gets that from his father.”

“Sometimes I think we all do.” Bruce tangled his fingers together, and then winced, realizing he had killed the conversation dead.

Frigga changed the subject. “The reason I asked to meet with you was because I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving my son. For being a good influence on him and good counsel for him.” Frigga smiled and took his hand. “I've heard from many others what you've done since you've been here, and I believe your actions sincere.”

Flustered, Bruce didn't know what to say. “I didn't really do anything...”

“You've been a good friend. Something Loki's needed for a long time.” Frigga patted his hand. “Even when he was young he has always been different. Not different in the way that he might think though, but because he has always been who he is, unafraid to be himself, and sometimes that isn't what people want from him.”

Bruce nodded, listening intently.

“Odin and I came to a compromise when they were little that the boys would rule jointly, and so they were raised that way, both to be kings.” Frigga shook her head. “Thor would lead the armies and Loki would guard the realms, and they would in turn be good counsel to each other. But at the last minute, their father...well, I don't always agree with him, but in the end, he had his own plans in mind. When Odin chose Thor to be sole ruler, it drove a wedge of rivalry between them that's never quite healed.”

“I don't know about that. But I know Loki...I know he still loves his brother. He asks about Thor all the time,” Bruce frowned to himself, feeling guilty that he had forgotten to ask after Thor the last time he spoke with a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and then feeling even more guilty when he remembered that he had never told Thor he had been secretly harboring Loki for years. “And vice versa.”

“Love is complicated. All these decisions happened years ago, probably before you were born. But it's only in the last decade or so that it's come to a head.”

“Oh. I didn't know.”

“Things in the last few years have moved faster than they have in centuries. Traditionally, we live on a more stately timeline. Sometimes I think we become very nervous when change happens so fast,” Frigga said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you heard it from Loki, though I wouldn't be surprised if he has told no one of what happened...there was a year and more in which we thought he was dead.”

Bruce's breath caught, and he could see the tears welling in Frigga's eyes, glimmering in the lamplight, even though she blinked them back stubbornly.

“There would have been a state funeral after a year of being lost, but I refused. Not for my son who is so very strong. I believed that he of all people could survive the branches of Yggdrasil. I'm glad I was right.”

Cautiously, Bruce gave Frigga's hand a gentle squeeze, and she squeezed it back before letting go to wipe at her eyes.

“Bruce, everything Loki's done, he's done for Asgard. Even his alliance with the Chitauri. Though he has never admitted the truth of it as anything other than open rebellion against his father.”

“How...does that work?”

“It would take generations upon generations for the Chitauri to build a fleet that large, to grow so many ships and warriors. They thrive in the vast depths of space, out beyond the realms, in dark places where light does not easily penetrate. We would have not known what they were doing until it was too late and their ships were pouring death and destruction onto our lands. But during the time he was lost to us, Loki somehow found out about their plans. It's obvious that they were uninterested in taking the smallest and poorest of the Nine Realms. Their master plan was to attack the jewel of the Nine Realms, the rich lands of Vanaheim. Somehow Loki convinced their masters otherwise, and led them to their doom.”

“Oh. Oh...” Things were starting to make more sense to Bruce, things that looked like foolish arrogance on Loki's part were starting to look more like clever stratagems when the greater scale of the galaxy was considered. “So he sacrificed a pawn to save the queen. At the cost of his reputation.” So there it was, Loki, who would rather be alive than protect his dignity. And in this case, would rather spare his mother's world of the indignities of total war and sacrifice another.

“Yes. Quite literally, in my case,” Frigga smiled sadly. “I am of Vanaheim myself, though I have not seen it since I was a girl.”

She continued: “Loki gambled on his brother being able to overcome any foe, and it was a gamble that paid off. He could not have known that the Midgardians would prevail, but he knows his brother. When Thor has it in his mind to protect something or someone that he loves, there is no stopping him. And he loves Midgard so very much,” Frigga sighed. “He always has.”

“I never knew him very well, but it seems to me that Thor has a way of drawing good people to him.”

“Yes. Thor has always been like that. It makes him a great war leader.” Frigga smiled.

“It kind of makes me wish I got to know him better,” Bruce said. “We fought together, once.” Bruce looked down at his hands. “Actually, we fought with each other once too.”

“Oh?” And there was a note of admiration, of respect in Frigga's voice, and for some reason though he had been surrounded by it all evening, it seemed as though he couldn't hold up the pretense before the queen.

“That's not something I'm proud of. By which I mean it's not something to _be_ proud of. Sometimes I lose control of myself. And it makes me dangerous.” Bruce shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn't be here. Actually, I probably shouldn't be here. I mean Asgard. In this palace. With you...”

“All great warriors have that in them...” Frigga began. “But your people aren't a warring people anymore, are they?”

“Not for the most part, no.”

“A shame. Loki has told me about you, perhaps more than you know. To be honest, even before he brought you to Asgard I had known about your 'other self.' To be able to stand toe-to-toe against my boys but to still have their best interests in mind...well, I can't find anything wrong with that.”

“Even though...”

“Even in light of what happened today. Perhaps especially so. He's gambled on you, Bruce. As king of Asgard he should have been able to fight off any champion of our enemies alone, hand-to-hand, with brute strength. That is part of the purpose of the Wild Hunt, to hunt for pleasure, but to also dispense justice as the king sees fit. He tried today, despite knowing he was unprepared, not armed with the great spear Gungnir. He depended on you, knowing that you would come to his aid when he needed it most.”

“Insurance.”

“Precisely. Today raised both your standings in court. He is now more respected for not showing fear while facing a great foe and for leading courageously at the head of his warriors. You are now more respected as a champion of Asgard's justice.”

“I think I'm starting to see where this is leading...”

“Perhaps, but for that you should speak with Loki. That is between you and he.”

“I guess we should talk.” 

Frigga stood, and Bruce did as well, meeting exactly eye to eye.

“You've been a good friend, Bruce. Not only for Loki, but for Asgard and Vanaheim.” Frigga's smile was full of genuine warmth. “Let's meet again sometime soon.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Bruce bowed deeply. “I'd like that.”

“I look forward to it.”

*****

The golden hallway was empty; from his vantage point between two soaring columns along a colonnade, Bruce couldn't even see any guards. The queen had left by a different route following the curve of the long terrace, and here he was back inside retracing his footsteps in solitude, one door at a time.

He paused as he stepped inside, the fingers of his left hand lightly touching the column near the door, the strange stone unusually smooth as he stroked his fingertips curiously over the surface. Alone, he felt dwarfed by the majesty, the grandeur of the palace. There was something rather sterile about its beauty, a coldness that he didn't feel when he was in Loki's quarters. Despite its formality, Loki's rooms were pleasantly homey when compared to the vast, monumental architecture that surrounded them daily.

He remembered another party in the past; there, he had escaped out into the rain just to avoid being swamped with people but here... Bruce smiled faintly. Here everything that he thought he was accustomed to was turned around. Here he was actually looking forward to returning to the party.

How long could this last? This sense of acceptance, this time with Loki that he had. Perhaps it didn't matter trying to extrapolate to the future; things would eventually move along. He would enjoy it while he could. Any life was like that, and maybe any relationship too. Eventually Loki as king would do what was necessary and set Bruce aside. Bruce was already prepared for the eventuality.

Everything changes; that was the rule. But eventually might not be for some time and in the meantime, he would cherish the time that he had been granted. There was a word for this feeling, Bruce thought, the wistfulness for the passing of a fleeting moment, but he didn't know what that word was anymore. Perhaps he never really knew it.

But he did know the relativity of time perception, and that in the sum of the universe, everything was a fleeting moment, not meant to be captured or held still. So he would follow the path before him to see where it led him.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing if the old Bruce Banner went missing for a while, even presumed dead. He thought back to his kidnapping and realized that if he went home, more incidents like that might occur. Once one person had an idea for something stupid dressed in the guise of a brilliant idea, someone else was bound to play copycat and improve upon it until it really was a brilliant idea. His life would have been messy, complicated by petty villains and ever-present surveillance, and at some point he might have to get seriously mad about something.

Maybe he could get used to life here, Bruce thought. He had Loki, he had Lopt, and there was an entire world if not an entire galaxy of new ideas to keep him busy. In the future, when passion cooled and Loki lost interest -- and here Bruce expected that it would probably be Loki who would get bored first -- he would have a place in Asgard and friends. And should things somehow take a turn for the worse, he could always go back to Earth.

Maybe Loki was right. Ignore what other people thought. Ignore what he thought of as his responsibilities, petty as they were. Start over anew.

A tiny bright spark caught his attention, distracting him from his thoughts. It fell from the darkness above to float in the void of the deep shadow of the pillar, a little star lost in space. Bruce reached out, wondering, and it shied away from his hand, just out of reach.

He took a step forward, following it around the curve of the great pillar, gliding in a slow, elliptical orbit. The spark twirled up to dance around Loki's head with little bursts and skitters of dying light before disappearing with a wink.

Loki took Bruce in his arms; he was a little drunk, and smelled like honey and herbs, the scent of Asgardian mead. Bruce didn't mind. On Loki, it was a good, pleasant smell.

“There you are.” Loki kissed the top of his head. “I've been looking for you. Where have you been?”

Just then the wind from the sea picked up, gusting into the hall from the open doors and Bruce could almost taste the change in the cold, salt-tinged air. Peals of laughter and shouting filled the hall; it had begun to rain and the party-goers were coming back inside.

Bruce dragged Loki down for a kiss, hidden by the column.

“I'm here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Hulk suit" was first mentioned in [Loki's Copycat Adventures](http://archiveofourown.org/works/754355/chapters/1409239), which is not exactly a sequel to The Vardøgr but more like an offshoot, though it does follow in continuity with The Vardøgr. Read it if you're interested in the things that might have happened between the first two stories of the series, and how Bruce and Loki's friendship progressed in the years before The Fylgja. I changed direction/tone with The Fylgja which is why it's not listed as being in the series, though I suppose if I went back and changed a few scenes around, it maybe could be seen as the story between the first two.
> 
> In the poetic Edda, there is a reference to Odin, Hoenir, and Lodur (or Lóðurr) creating man. One particular translation used the Romanization "Lothur", which was picked for aesthetic reasons. There are a few references online that theorize that Hoenir and Lóðurr are alternate names for Vili and Ve. 
> 
> Gyda is an Old Norse name. I changed the vowel.


	7. The Sváss

The day Bruce had planned to go back to Earth came and went without comment. Loki didn't mention anything about it and Bruce didn't bring it up. Instead, Bruce busied himself with books. After the post-hunt dinner party had moved to an interior hall, he and Loki had made what was supposed to be a brief, polite appearance, meaning to leave right afterward. However, Bruce ended up in a spirited, lively discussion with Lord Lothur on physics and since then, word had spread about his interests. Admirers of all sorts had been sending him books whose provenance came from all over the known galaxy; Loki's receiving room was stacked almost to the ceiling with the kind of slender math and physics texts that gave Bruce flashbacks to upper division and graduate classes. The sheer mass made him wonder if he was going to need to find the help of a part-time librarian to sort and categorize everything and if he was going to live long enough to read everything.

Bruce was pleased; he immersed himself in his new studies, excited in a way he hadn't been in a long time. He often used Loki's study, working through examples from the books on the chalkboard and trying to make sense of what he was learning. Some concepts were too advanced; he didn't have the necessary background or vocabulary, and reluctantly he had to put those books aside and start from more elementary things, though he had a running list of questions for Sif, who had offered to tutor.

There had been talk of moving him into an official apartment; it wasn't certain what kind of status he had in Asgard yet, either as the king's lover or as a champion of Asgard. Apparently there had not been an inclusive 'or' in living memory, the 'or' that meant one could be both lover and champion at once. That apparently would have to wait while a specialist on the reign of Buri dug through the prodigious records for minutiae, with details to be finalized when court was in session again. 

As for court, it turned out that Asgard followed a nine day cycle: nine days straight of business, followed by nine days off. It gave everyone “time to scheme,” as Loki had dryly put it. Bruce had come to Asgard at the tail end of one of these marathon sessions and the day of the hunt had been the first day off. Not that time off from official duties meant that Loki had much leisure time; it seemed he was as busy as ever. The only major difference was that Loki could take more of his meals in private.

This morning it was raining again, but even still the birds were singing their alien, complicated songs, some harsh to the ear, some sweet. Loki had left before Bruce was awake, which seemed to be more and more the case; whatever business Loki had, it usually took up his entire day. A book in each hand, Bruce lounged on the bed; both volumes were on gravitation, but the examples they had on Lorenz attractors were different. One approached it with ordinary differential equations, the way he was familiar with, and the other, he was still trying to reconcile.

“Lopt. Do I believe this?” Bruce asked Lopt, who was tunneling under the blankets, playing a solitary game that she liked to play with the bedclothes. “Is this a reasonable answer? Maybe ordinary diffy q's aren't enough to describe this phenomenon? Should it have been partials instead? Something else? Is there higher dimensionality that our model didn't consider? Was the model we know too simple? Or are things affected by our position in the galaxy? In the universe? Is that what this is saying?”

Lopt mewed at him from what sounded like under a pillow, the sound muffled.

“If you're going to be like that, I'm not going to ask you anymore.”

As he set down the more familiar text with the intent of rereading the more unusual one, Bruce caught a bright flash of light out of the corner of his eye, and almost simultaneously, a clap of thunder. There was a scrabbling under the bedding as Lopt fought her way out from under the covers, and dashed off in a flash of orange to hide.

“Just a thunderstorm.” Bruce smiled to himself and sat up. Looking out the windows, he decided it couldn't possibly be anything but just rain. Statistically unlikely to be anything other than weather. He worried too much about nothing. The birds had stopped singing; there was almost a deep silence before the next flash of lightning.

Midway between deciding to get up out of bed to look out the balcony door, there was a sudden gust of wind and rain into the room as the doors flung open and he was temporarily blinded; it was as if the storm in miniature had entered the room.

He took off his water-spattered glasses and reached for the discarded books, worried that the gust of rain had soaked the paper, just as a strong hand closed over his wrist.

“Bruce Banner.” Thor's blond hair streamed over his shoulders, soaked through with rain, a dark cloak shrouding his armour. “Whatever my brother has done to you, your ordeal is over now. I'm here to take you home.”

*****

“Whoa. Wait. Hold on, this is not what it looks like.” Bruce tried to shake Thor off, but Thor gently pulled him up onto his feet as easily as if he were a child. “I mean, this is not what you think it is. I admit I don't know exactly what you think is going on, but whatever it is you're thinking, I think you're wrong.”

“We were all informed that you had disappeared from Midgard without a trace. There were signs that suggested it was my brother's doing.” Thor's eyes narrowed. “I recognized his handwriting and his drawings on your papers.”

“Shit.” Bruce scowled. “You...guys went through my house?” 

“Not I, but the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. They found things there that were inconsistent with your work and by chance I saw the papers in question. We were all worried that you had fallen into harm, especially in light of your recent kidnapping. Even Tony Stark himself wanted to assist me in rescuing you. He is a brave man, but I declined. This has become a matter of honor between brothers.”

Bruce grimaced, feeling a pang of guilt. “Yeah. Sorry you had to find out this way. I...really didn't mean to...” Bruce pressed the the thumb and middle finger of his free hand against his temples. “I really didn't want to lie about it but...I...I guess I don't really have an excuse. I mean, he asked but I'm not blaming him because I chose--”

“Whatever he's said to you, to trick you and to lie to you--”

“No, you don't understand--”

“Bruce. You must listen to me. This the kind of thing that Loki does.” Thor caught his eye, a brilliant flash of fierce blue. “He probably has some plan for you, something that will bring you to harm. Perhaps Asgard as well. You must come away before it's too late. We can protect you. Come away before he hurts you irretrievably. Before he manipulates you into doing something to hurt someone else irretrievably.”

Bruce swallowed, feeling a sick cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was as if all his fears had been laid out neatly. But he shook his head; he had to believe Loki. There had been nothing but sincerity in Loki's eyes. Even if Loki was at times a liar, they had known each other too long for Bruce to be easily fooled. Bruce had been there; he knew what they had said to each other. There was no game, no tricks, not where it really mattered.

“Look,” Bruce tried to pull away, but Thor's grip was absolute, not hurting him, but too powerful to break free from. “Even if I wanted to leave--and let me tell you right now that I don't want to go--I can't just leave like this. I'd have to tell him. I owe him that much.”

“Best not to let his lies wear you down. He's good at that,” Thor's mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Believe me, I love my brother, but you don't know him like I do.”

“Maybe not. But have you considered that things have changed and he's--”

“Bruce, are you quite ready--” Sif paused in the doorway. “Thor...?” Dumbstruck, a handful of papers slithered out of her grip, cascading to the ground.

“Sif. You must help me,” Thor smiled at her. There was a hint of wistfulness in that smile, almost cajoling, and he could see the consternation in Sif's expression, the sudden hesitancy in her step, she who never seemed to hesitate about anything. But the moment passed quickly; ignoring the dropped papers, she stalked forward.

“Thor, what are you doing?”

“I'm here to rescue Bruce Banner.” 

“Rescue him?” Sif gave a snort of derision. “The way a cat needs rescuing from a dish of cream? He's just getting settled in. You of all people should know better. Look around you. What does his environment say? His body language? Does he look like a prisoner?”

“You talk as though you're training young warriors. I am no longer a boy that needs instruction in the art of war.”

“Really? Are you quite sure about that? Because I see many things to contradict your theory. Books on the unmade bed, when you know your brother does not stand to leave things so carelessly. Bruce probably on the bed as well, recently. I would bet that if you touched that depression in the sheets next to him, it would still be warm. Doesn't the fact that he's barely decently dressed give you any ideas as to why he might be here?”

“I would rather not guess,” Thor said stiffly, looking away.

“Really? Must I spell it out for you? Let him go.”

Thor gave the bed a sharp look of disdain and let Bruce go. “I want to talk to him. I want to see my brother.”

“And here I am, as requested. I didn't know we were having a family reunion in my bedroom.” Loki strode in. He paused briefly, giving Thor an unreadable look. “You really ought to have informed me in advance, brother, so I could have had a proper welcome planned for you. I would have invited Mother and Odin to the party. Maybe even Lord Lothur. Though I'm not sure he misses you nearly as much as Mother does.”

“Loki...”

Bruce glanced up at Thor; there was a strange look in his eyes, as if not quite believing what he saw. Loki seemed to be unaffected, but it seemed that Loki's casualness was feigned. Loki was tense; there was a particular stillness to him and a particular brightness in his eyes that Bruce hadn't seen before.

“Had I not received a message from the guards about your arrival, I wouldn't have known about this little drama until it was too late, would I?”

“You can't just bring mortals to Asgard, Loki. Whatever it is you want to do, you can't--” Thor began. Loki gestured eloquently, dismissively, and Thor suddenly stopped mid-sentence. They gave each other a long, considering look.

“No, you're right, brother,” Thor sighed. “They should go. This matter is between us.” 

“So very sorry,” Loki tipped his head politely to Bruce and Sif, a forced smile on his lips. “But if you don't mind, Sif, I would appreciate it if you and Bruce went elsewhere for the time being. Thor and I would like to speak in private.”

“Not at all.” Sif helped Bruce gather up his armour and boots.

Closing the door behind them, Bruce could faintly hear their voices, but it was too muffled to make out what was being said. Resolutely, he walked away; this was between Loki and Thor, and he would not interfere; besides, it was unlikely that Thor would listen to him. Bruce followed Sif to the study where he pulled on his footwear, and began to put on the outer layers and the armour, mechanically going through the motions.

Lopt crept out from behind a stack of books and seeing Sif, bounded up to her.

“Ah, you.” Sif knelt, and Lopt rubbed herself against Sif's bent knee. “Did you miss me?” She stroked Lopt, running her fingers through soft orange fur.

Bruce watched, wordlessly, and as he finished putting on his left-hand vambrace, the last piece of armour, a little flash of memory crossed his mind; that strong hand clasped tightly on a slender wrist, a pale-eyed glance back at him from the deep shadow of the hallway of his home.

“We should probably go somewhere else, shouldn't we?”

Sif gave him a measured look. “Yes, probably. Somehow I think it might be best to hide you somewhere out of the way, where he can't easily get to you.”

“Do you mean Thor? Or Loki.”

“Maybe both.” Sif shrugged. “Honestly, I don't know how this is going to play out. Perhaps it's for the best that we briefly make ourselves scarce and let them work it out.”

“But if I get sent to Midgard, couldn't I just be brought back?”

“Of course. It wouldn't be much of an issue. But it would be a matter of honor to Loki, if Thor could force his hand.”

“Right.” An act that while trivial, had the very distinct possibility of undermining Loki's newly established authority. If the elder brother who had relinquished the throne could be seen as making decisions that overrode the king's, at best it would severely weaken Loki's standing, at worst it could slide into factional squabbling and civil war, of parties that preferred one over the other as ruler of Asgard. Whatever the case, it would be a crisis of legitimacy and authority. Bruce found his glasses and tucked them onto his collar.

“Well. We ought to go then,” Bruce said cheerfully, or as best he could. “All right, Lopt. Be good and stay out of trouble. Sif and I are going on a little adventure.”

They left the palace, not by any usual route that Bruce had taken in the past, but by relatively narrow servant's stairs and back corridors, designed for fast connections between the floors of the palace. Though Bruce didn't know the way, he noticed that Sif backtracked a few times, making loops around floors; he figured it was to avoid attracting the attention of the servants.

At one point, he couldn't help but ask; he knew the Asgardians deeply valued bravery.

“Do you think...maybe I should have stood my ground? Tried to fight for my rights, whatever that means...”

Sif stopped briefly, and leaned in close, speaking quietly and intensely. “Bruce, there is a time to fight and there is a time to retreat against overwhelming odds. This is a tactical retreat. When the time comes to fight, you'll know.” She gave him a fierce, stunning smile, and with a gesture, urged him on through the vast heart of the palace.

 

This was the first time he had been outside of the palace proper, in the city below. It had stopped raining, but the sky was still dark with stormclouds. He had only really been on the glittering causeway that accessed the Bifrost; he had never wandered through the town in the time he had been in Asgard. Once they made it outside, Bruce understood why Sif had made them stop briefly at a storage closet and borrow a pair of drab, dark cloaks; the townsfolk were unarmoured and unarmed, wearing clothes of simple cut and muted colors. Among the regular people of the town, their armour and brightly colored garments would have made them immediately conspicuous.

“So where are we going exactly?” Bruce looked around, wondering when he would see Loki again. Above, the palace loomed, as grand in scale as a mountain rising high into the clouds. Though they had walked some distance away from it, it was omnipresent, and Bruce gathered it was the greatest artifice on this entire world, how little of it there was.

“I suppose perhaps we'll go for a tour of the town.” They stopped on a bridge, its graceful arch rising over a canal. Below ran the clear waters of the sea. “Or perhaps the lakes, if you would like to do that instead. Something to pass the time for today, and then I'll catch up with what's going on and find out if it's safe for you to return. Past that...well, if we have to, Fandral has a place in town; you could stay there safely. I don't think Thor knows about that place.”

“No? Aren't they friends?”

“They are, but Fandral doesn't tell anyone about his serious affairs. He might be a flirt, but he's discreet when it comes to his love life. He can't hide it from me though. I figured it out ages ago,” Sif winked. “Even though he has quarters in the palace, he keeps a place in the city for his dalliances.”

“Wait, isn't he married? I mean, all those kids...”

Sif laughed. “Married? He's too young. Well, he's legally of age; we all are, but he's not tying himself down unless he has to. Even his parents know better than to even ask.”

“What about Hilde?”

“What about her? She's the mother of Gida. The others have different mothers. I can't keep track of them all.”

“But...”

“Whatever the custom is in Midgard, I cannot say I know or understand it. But here, children are a matter of love. They're living tokens of affection between two people. Even if for some reason the love fades, there are always the children as proof that the love existed. Of course, it's practical too, as we can always use more warriors,” Sif explained. “As for marriage, that's a matter of business. Contractual obligations and so forth. Alliances between families, to settle disputes or to merge lands and wealth. Many a blood-feud in the past has been settled with marriages. It's like forcing a permanent truce.”

“But...Fandral? So many children?”

“Fandral is well-loved,” Sif shrugged. “I can't say I see what the others see in him, but then again, I have a very different relationship with him. They've never sweated and stank with him shoulder to shoulder in battle, and they've never seen him up to his neck in blood and monster guts.”

“That sounds...like a hell of a fight.”

“It was. We managed though.”

“Wait. If marriage is just business and not necessarily for children, what about...”

“What about the royal family? Only the occasional families in the noble lineages are contractually obligated to have a child together, but we all know that it's just duty. I remember hearing gossip for ages growing up; no one really knew for sure if Thor and Loki were conceived by contract or by love. Maybe both. Of course, even with contracts, everyone has their own affairs on the side. There are other forms of love tokens than children, of course, many that are more discreet. It comes down to individual preference.”

So even Sif had no idea about Loki's real parentage. Bruce nodded, filing that thought away. “What about inheritance?”

“What about it? As long as the child is claimed as the child of the family, that is what they are. How could it not be?”

“This is complicated. I never expected...”

“You'll have to tell me what they do on Midgard that's different,” Sif said. “But first, the lakes or the town? The sea?”

“Let's...let's go to the lakes.”

 

They spent a damp, drizzly afternoon fishing from a little skiff that strangely did not float in the water as much as it did in the air, casting its dark, wavy shadow over the clear waters. The lakes filled the rocky, mountainous back country of Asgard; it seemed that the inhabitable parts were all around the city and palace.

They didn't talk much; they didn't even catch much. Bruce found himself so deep in thought that he almost lost the pole a few times, the bite of the fish jerking it out of his unfocused hands. But then again, the point of this trip wasn't really fishing. Even Sif said little, willing to leave him to his thoughts.

One pervasive question kept entering his mind, but it didn't seem appropriate to ask. That night back on Earth, years ago, when Thor had appeared seeking Loki, Bruce had accidentally spent it outside on the slope of the mountain behind his home. Perhaps he knew then, subconsciously, that he didn't want to know what was going on in his house. Even when he got his house back, it was a few days before he ventured back into his bedroom; it was the only place they logically could have been.

Things had been thrown askew; bedding was on the floor, a wall hanging hung crookedly There were hints, but nothing very clear; he didn't know what to think at the time, so he chose not to think about it at all. After all, it had nothing to do with him.

But now...Bruce sighed, propping his chin against his hand. But now things were completely different, and somehow, over the years, he had grown close to Loki in a way that he hadn't had with anyone else before. Their friendship had slowly deepened over time, and what was none of his business seemed to feel more and more like something he should really be asking questions about.

“Say, Sif...” Bruce began, without meaning to, and just then, the fishing pole jerked out of his lax left hand and into the water. Fumbling, he snatched at it but it was too late; the pole was sinking, and fast.

“Shit.” Bruce shook his head. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to lose that.”

“No, it's nothing. Don't worry about it,” Sif shrugged. “Accidents happen. But what did you mean to ask me?”

Bruce paused, thinking it through. Whatever it was, he should be asking Loki, not her. If he needed other perspectives, he would do ask only after hearing what Loki had to say.

“Oh, nothing important. Say, what kind of fish are there in the lakes? Fresh water or brackish?”

 

By evening, Bruce was exhausted, and it took him a minute to realize it had to do more with tension than anything else. Sif left him in a quiet tavern where he ate some plain, light fare in exchange for the few fish they caught, unable to properly focus. When he found himself pushing around the same pile of sweet potatoes and greens, he gave up, setting the plate aside.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he said, very softly to himself. He imagined going back to the palace, being greeted by Loki who would wonder where he had been, and ask about his day. Perhaps they would talk. The thought of that gave Bruce a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. In his mind's eye, he could imagine Loki laughing: _You really thought I wanted you for something other than sex? Oh, my dear, sweet Bruce. You certainly get some interesting ideas in your head..._ But no, that couldn't be it either. They had been friends for too long for that, and he had made it very clear years ago that he wasn't interested in the proverbial friendly hook-up. 

But then Bruce thought, could he accept it if it was just sex? Call it friends with benefits. That was not a bad thing, in theory, though negotiations up front about the terms and conditions of the relationship would probably have made more sense than diving in. Not that it was much of a dive so much as finding oneself had accidentally wandered into deep, uncharted water while already swimming in the ocean. 

Bruce nodded to himself, making a decision. Whatever he could imagine, he could manage. He could prepare himself for any conceivable possibility. Soon, he'd go back to the palace and sort out the misunderstandings--

“Bruce. Are you about done?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” He looked up to see Fandral standing over him, a concerned look on his face, as though something Bruce had been doing was worrying the man. So he and Sif had traded shifts. “Where's Sif?”

“Business up at the palace,” Fandral smiled, but there was something tense to it, something almost unpleasant, as if he knew something and was hiding it from Bruce.

Bruce shook his head; too much court life was making him paranoid.

“Well? If you're done with that, let's go then.” Fandral said lightly, almost artificially so, and Bruce was beginning to worry. 

“Where...?” Bruce sat up; it was a shame to waste food, but he couldn't face the thought of eating right now. “I mean, pardon me for wondering but--”

“No, it's fine. You're allowed to wonder. We're going to my house in town.” 

So that was it, he wasn't returning to the palace. 

They left the tavern, and he found himself scurrying to keep up with long-legged Fandral, who he noticed had shrouded himself in a cloak, as Sif had before and as he had, hiding his identity from the townsfolk under a drab, dark gray layer.

“Should...I be worried?”

“Worried about what?”

“I'm not going back...”

“Oh you will, eventually. Sooner than later, I would say. Thor can't stay here forever, not when his beloved Midgard awaits,” Fandral replied, and there was something bitter and sarcastic in his tone of voice that was shocking coming from Fandral. “Just give it a few days, I'm sure things will sort themselves out.”

“Sure.” A few days. That was nothing; he'd go walking around town if he grew bored. See if Fandral kept any books. Maybe cook his own meals for a day or two, that would be enjoyable, assuming there was anything like a larder and a kitchen, or a market where fresh food could be had. Though at this point he had no idea how anything was paid for beyond barter.

“You're taking this awfully well.” 

“I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this...tactical retreat.”

Fandral chuckled. “Sif's been at you, hasn't she? Well, she's right; it is a tactical retreat. We like you and would like for you to stay. I think you'd be good for us here and we can be of good to you as well. You've made friends and allies here, and we're here to support you.”

“Even against Thor? Isn't he your friend too?”

“Sometimes a person has a strong-willed friend who gets by on force of personality and influence. However, influence and personality can wane...especially in light of changing circumstances...such as the abdication of duties.” Fandral shrugged. “We're all friends, the royal brothers and the Warriors Three and Sif, but my sense of loyalty and duty is not blind. The days of Thor getting his way unconditionally are over.”

“I feel like there's a story behind that.”

“It's a complicated mess.” Fandral looked around, and it hinted to Bruce that he should stop asking questions. They walked a little further before Fandral stopped at a stately house on the shore of the sea, where Bruce could hear the sound of crashing waves, and see the floating lights of the fishing boats in the distance. Fandral let them in; Bruce paused to let Fandral lead the way, as he had no idea what the customs of entering a private home were.

Fandral loosened his cloak and took it off; Bruce imitated him. They left the cloaks in the entry, and Fandral led the way in, lights turning on as he walked around. There was a pleasing intimacy to the house in contrast to the monumental palace architecture.

“Bruce, I've always liked and admired Thor. But between you and me, in some ways I like his brother better. Loki hasn't changed much since he became king, not in essence, though he seems more responsible. Thor changed a lot when he was named to be sole ruler, back when we were boys.”

“Oh...”

“Of course, we were boys so perhaps that had something to do with it. But I think the prospect of power made Thor rather insufferable, whereas the actual wielding of power seems to have steadied Loki.

“I can't tell you how many times in the past where the lot of us were dragged off to who knows where for whatever harebrained ideas Thor had. I love a good adventure as much as the next man, but taking us into Jotenheim against his father's will...Thor is lucky,” Fandral said, annoyed, rubbing at his shoulder as if feeling the ache of an old wound. “He's not the one who had to pay for it. No, I take that back; his father finally put his foot down then and exiled him. But Thor wasn't gone long, and he came back...strange. Peace-loving. Like some kind of radical; even Odin never went that far. I don't know what he sees in Midgard and Midgardians. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Fandral opened his mouth briefly, it was as though he had something more to say, but then he closed his mouth, choosing discretion. “Of course, you're welcome to stay here. If it takes longer than anticipated, I'll make other arrangements with Loki. But you'll be cared for; no one would possibly turn you out. In such matters, all of us are rather influential in our own ways.” 

“Thanks. I really appreciate it. This is a nice place.”

“I'm quite fond of it. Lots of good memories,” Fandral winked. “Let me show you around.”

“Thank you.”

*****

Days passed slowly, wearily. By Bruce's reckoning, court had already restarted, and he still heard nothing from Loki, not even a second-hand message from Fandral or Sif. He had seen neither of them, but he had no idea what that meant, whether it was that they were too busy with their duties, or something else had occurred. He thought that time scale probably didn't mean much to them; for near immortals, he guessed that a few days was perhaps more like a few hours in their perception, so he had to make allowances for that.

To keep himself busy, so he had less time to worry and fret, he had discovered Fandral had a rather sizable collection of books in a small library, texts of all sorts, well-loved and well-read, from novels to histories to the arts and to physical sciences, even a few pornographic volumes that Bruce found by accident and from then on studiously avoided.

A young man came by to deliver food once a day; more often than not, there were things that Bruce liked, the paper-husked fruits whose name escaped him, a jar of that delicious jam for his breakfasts, and meals that leaned vegetarian or were made without meat. One time there was even a small pot of curried chickpeas and lentils, and he knew that this had to have been Loki's doing, a message to say that he had not been forgotten. He was embarrassed by how touched he was by the sentiment..

Bruce explored the neighborhood around him, in a cautious and limited manner. He studied chemistry from books that seemed to be grounded in the physics he was trying to learn before he went off on his 'tactical retreat'. He missed Lopt more than Loki, and he wondered if it was because he was afraid of the inevitable confrontation, the kind of emotionally charged talk that he generally tried to avoid. He took walks along the shore of the sea. 

It was an oddly isolated location; Bruce wondered if it was a private beach as he never saw anyone else along the jagged shoreline. Inside the house, there was a staircase that that ended in a door, opening to chiseled stone steps down to the beach. He would walk along the pebbly beach, here and there picking up an interesting stone smoothed by the action of the waves, putting it back where it belonged after he was done contemplating it. When high tide came, the water sloshed up onto the lower steps; sometimes in the evenings he would sit on the highest step, wrapped in his cloak, watching the water swirl around the base of the erosion-worn steps. How many centuries, millennia had it been since these steps were carved, how long would it take for the granite-like stone to grind down completely due to the wearing motion of the sea?

Tonight he found himself sitting on the stairs, loathe to go inside. Something about the atmospheric conditions made individual stars and distant galaxies appear closer, more intense, as if he could merely reach out to singe the tip of his finger on a burning star rotating slowly across the sky. It was as if the entirety of the heavens had been visually magnified. And perhaps he was outside because inside meant that there was no Lopt to greet him at the door, begging for attention. No little claws trying to climb up his trouser legs seeking to be on his shoulder, to perch by his ear and gnaw at his curling hair. And it meant no Loki, waiting for supper to be made while curled up on the couch with a book, his long legs dangling over the end.

He wasn't sure if he missed his life in New Mexico, or just the others that formed his life, what essentially boiled down to his closest friends.

“Banner. A cat. Really?” He laughed a little to himself, almost embarrassed at the thought that he only had a cat and a former fugitive as his closest confidants. And then that led inevitably to the very real concern: “Maybe I chose wrong after New York.” It was a thought that came to him sometimes, that perhaps he should have taken up Stark's offer years ago and lived in Stark Tower. Worked side-by-side with Stark, who he always admired, not only for his genius which was obvious, but for his forthrightness, the honest way Stark expressed his feelings. 

Maybe such a friend would have been good for him. What would have that been like? Perhaps instead of Loki and a cat as his closest companions, it would have been Stark and...a cat-like robot? No, that was a silly thought, perhaps it would have been a dog instead, loyal and gregarious the way Stark was. Then again, there would have been so many others around as well; he would have lived in the beating heart of a great city, with opportunities to meet new people around every corner. It was a life he could not imagine anymore.

There was a sudden clenching of his throat when he suddenly realized a possibility that he hadn't considered, that perhaps if he had chosen to live in New York, he could have seen her again. Even from the distance somewhere, perhaps he would be crossing the street, and he would see her on the opposite corner waiting for the light to change, her hair shining in the streaking rays of sunlight that glowed through the long canyon-like streets in the summertime. Despite the hot stench of the city around them, he knew that if he was close enough, she would smell just faintly of soap, clean and practical. Just a glimpse would have been enough; he still loved her in a distant, aching way, and he knew he could never have her, not when it meant that it could hurt her, that they could never have a family together the way she wanted. He could not give her that.

But he had made his decisions; he could not take them back. So he would live on and never see her again. When she was an old woman, he'd still be like this, trapped in the instant he threw caution to the wind and decided that he was absolutely sure that he knew what he was doing. She would still recognize him; would he recognize her?

Slightly horrified, he found his eyes full of tears, and he pressed the edge of the cloak against his face. 

“It's just stress.” But the other guy didn't stir, not even preemptively at the voicing of that word; it was almost as if he was alone in himself, the way he was when Loki had given him the potion.

But that didn't make the pain go away. Analytically, he tried to understand it and define it, redefine it; perhaps he was conflating her with his mild homesickness for Earth, perhaps it was psychologically mourning for the self he had effectively killed in the laboratory years ago, perhaps he was just missing his friends after a few days alone, perhaps he was emotionally brittle from all the sudden lifestyle changes, and perhaps it was because he had been eating foods he wasn't accustomed to, perhaps he had acquired a minor deficiency in certain vitamins or minerals...

“Bruce. Are you...all right?”

Slowly, Bruce looked up, taking a long, shuddering breath to steady himself, wiping his eyes surreptitiously. “Loki?”

Loki stood on the stair below him, their eyes meeting levelly. Bruce shifted to stand, but then realized that Loki was not really here; the rushing action of the sea, the foaming waves were passing through his feet. He sat back down.

“You're not really here. This is some sort of projection” Despite the instant rush if excitement upon seeing Loki, there was a deep and profound disappointment when he realized it was just an apparition.

“You're right. This is a spell. I can see you though. You don't like armour very much, do you?” Loki teased.

“I'm comfortable,” Bruce shrugged.

“I'm glad no one else can see you in your current state of undress...” 

“Ha ha. The joke that just never stops being funny,” Bruce found Loki's levity unusually irritating. “Why are you here? What's going on?”

“I wanted to check up on you. To see if you were doing well.”

“Of course I am. I'm fine. Totally, completely fine. Thanks for the jam. It was good.” Bruce found himself staring at Loki; could he see the room behind him? Was there the flickering light of a brazier? It was hard to say, but he could faintly see the burning stars through Loki's slightly translucent form. 

“As for the rest. I don't mean to upset you, Bruce. Things are currently...complicated. My brother shall be leaving soon; it's just a matter of time before he tires of Asgard and returns to Midgard. And then...”

“Sure. Sure.” Bruce found himself leaning back to lay down on the steps a little, eyes shut. The time-worn edges were not that sharp against his back. “Then I get to go back to the palace with you. Right. How's Lopt, by the way?”

“Hiding. She misses you. But she is of course well.”

“Good. And Sif? Fandral?”

“They spend their free time with my brother. They are both rather fond of him.”

“That's nice. Your mother?”

“Pleased her son is home, even briefly.”

“Lord Lothur? Your councillors?”

“...Bruce.” Something in that tone of voice made Bruce open his eyes to look at Loki. “Are you...angry with me?”

“If I was angry, you'd know.” Bruce leaned up on his elbow, meeting Loki's eyes. “I'm more disappointed than anything else. I just wish someone would tell me what's going on.”

“I'm sorry, Bruce. We can't really speak about it like this, not properly.” Loki's eyes were melancholy; Bruce wondered what he was thinking. “Soon, I will come to you and we will properly discuss--”

“Yeah, well. Just remember, my perception of time is different from yours. Don't go forgetting about me for years,” Bruce snapped, and immediately he regretted his words, realizing he had voiced an unspoken fear in annoyance.

“I couldn't possibly forget you. How could I?” Loki's smile was wistful, sad, and he reached out to Bruce as if to touch him. But then his expression suddenly changed as if he was schooling it, and Bruce saw a vambraced arm wrap around Loki's waist before Loki abruptly disappeared.

A left-hand vambrace, strapped over the second colored layer that was black for the Einherjar soldiers, and green on himself and Fandral...but on that particular arm it was red. And it wasn't an arm that belonged to Sif; that he could understand in entirety because of many different reasons but...

Bruce sat up, resting his chin on his hands, and watched the starry sky. He wondered; from here could he see Perseus? How different would the constellation look from here, assuming he could see it? Would it even be recognizable?

Eventually, a veil of fog rolled in off the sea and the air took on a damp, icy chill that verged on unbearable.

Shivering, chilled to the core, Bruce finally gave up and went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sváss translates to 'beloved' in Old Norse.
> 
> A lot of people call differential equations "Diffy Q's." I think it's a cute nickname.
> 
> The previous chapter is the end of one arc and this is the beginning of another. I debated splitting it off into another story, but hopefully it will work better this way, given the setup. 
> 
> The references throughout the story to the past are mostly from The Vardøgr, in particular Thor and Loki's night in Bruce's bedroom, and bit about the constellation Perseus (both from chapter 3). 
> 
> Next chapter might be a while as I'll be out of town. Apologies in advance!


	8. Chapter 8

True to his word, Loki came the very next evening.

Bruce was fast asleep in the library on a stylish piece of furniture that was roughly analogous to a very firm daybed when he was woken by a lingering kiss.

“Bruce.” Loki's long fingers stroked his hair, tangling in the curls. “Oh, my dearest Bruce. Have you taken to decimating Fandral's library too?” Bruce opened his eyes blearily; Loki was sitting on the floor beside the low-slung daybed, an arm draped carelessly over Bruce's midsection. He plucked the book from Bruce's hand, glancing at it briefly before setting it down. “At this rate, perhaps I should focus on expanding the royal library's collection. I suppose you'd like that better than flowers and candy, or the still-beating hearts of your enemies.”

“Loki.” Bruce sat up, rubbing at his eyes, skewing the glasses on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you miss me?” Loki drew him down for a kiss, and it took a moment for Bruce to react properly, still half-asleep.

He gave Loki's arm a little tug, drawing him up. Once Loki was seated, Bruce threw his arms around Loki, holding him tightly.

“This feels good.” Bruce sighed, even as distinctly hard edges of Loki's armour pressed against his chest and shoulders. He pressed his palm to cup Loki's jaw, fingertips sliding against Loki's hair. “Of course I missed you. And Lopt. More Lopt than you. Sorry.”

“I would have brought her along but I didn't think it polite to bring a strange creature into Fandral's home. I'm not certain he's fond of cats...”

“Yeah. I understand. Lopt's an alien organism, after all. Maybe even an invasive species.” 

“Of course, as fond as I am of Lopt, talking about her is not why I'm here.” Their eyes met, and Bruce looked away. Here it was, the inevitable talk, and he could feel the anxiety clench inside of him. But instead of discussion, Loki stood and scooped Bruce up into his arms.

“Loki!” Bruce yelped.

“My apologies. I don't mean to be so cavalier, but...where is the nearest bedroom from here? Oh wait, I see it.” Loki smiled as he took Bruce into an adjacent bedroom; there were many in Fandral's house; this one was thankfully the least impressive, without the thematic wall hangings and erotic designs that some of the other rooms had (he had only glanced into one or two but never really explored).

Loki dumped Bruce lightly onto the bed and he quickly followed, moving over Bruce, shedding armour and pieces of clothing as he went along.

“Loki. Wait.”

“I've been thinking of you.” Loki kissed him fervently, and Bruce felt his breath catch at Loki's intensity. “Quite a bit. All alone, waiting for me...”

“I have too. Not exactly like this though. I mean, not what you're thinking.”

“No? Tell me what you were thinking then.” Loki's hand worried at Bruce's collar, sliding his hand into the open neck of Bruce's shirt. 

“Loki...”

“Mmm, very nice...” Loki pushed back the tall collar and his lips grazed Bruce's ear and throat, making Bruce shiver with pleasure.

“Loki. Sorry. Wait.” He pushed Loki back a little; there was a sense of disappointment at the sudden break in tempo, but he couldn't let it go on, not like this. Not when time was limited and he was troubled by questions he wasn't sure he wanted answered.

“Bruce? What is it?” Bright-eyed and flushed with excitement, Loki leaned forward over Bruce.

“I'm...sorry. I think we should talk. Before...” Bruce gestured awkwardly, unsure of himself. “Before you have to go. Though maybe it'll ruin the mood. It probably already has. Sorry.”

“Talk? About what?” 

“First of all, I'm sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to snap at you.”

“No need to apologize.”

“No? Really?”

“Really. I rather enjoy seeing some fire in your eyes.”

“You're insane.”

Loki chuckled. “Perhaps. Now, tell me what you wish to discuss.”

There was a long silence as Bruce tried to formulate a question; it seemed that once confronted, the specifics he wanted to ask about suddenly flew from his mind.

“I...want to know but I don't know if I want to know. You know?” Bruce slipped off his glasses so he could properly shove his face into his hands. “Okay. Okay...how do I put this in the least weird way...” He took a deep breath. “I want to know. What...is it between you and your brother?”

“What's between the two of us brothers? You mean, our relationship?”

“I don't know how to ask...I don't know what I'm doing.”

“I love him,” Loki said simply. 

“You mean agape? Filia?” And here Bruce paused. “Eros?”

“Yes to all of them. After all, we are twins. Or so we were raised to believe,” Loki shrugged.

“So let me get this clear, in case I'm not understanding properly. Because there were some things that happened that first time you came to my house years ago. And I've sort of wondered but never really thought I should ask because it's none of my business and...”

“Bruce.”

“Right. Sorry. I'm rambling. So. You and he...are more than just brothers. You're also...lovers?” Bruce could feel himself cringe, saying the words out loud.

“Oh yes.” Loki said it lightly. “Thor and I are each other's first loves...though are you all right, Bruce? You look a little pale.”

“Wait, give me a moment.” Bruce tried to process it; Loki seemed to be taking this awfully casually. “Then is this...normal?”

“Not exactly; after all, twins are rare on Asgard. I think we might have been what amounted to the first pair in some centuries, though of course that didn't quite turn out to be completely true--”

“No, I mean. Between brothers? Siblings.”

“Oh, that? Yes, of course. It's not uncommon with siblings of close age.”

“Really?” Bruce could hear his voice crack.

“Really.” Loki seemed puzzled by his consternation. “Why would there be any problems with that? We are closest to each other of anyone; we are of the same cohort, we were raised together, we trained together, we fought together, we came of age together. Why not explore the first budding shoots of love together as well?”

“Look. You're just going to have to give me a minute to process this. I suspected but...wait, you two had sex? Together?”

“Well, of course. Had and probably always will, on and off. I love him. Why not?”

“I think...I think this is where we're having um...what do you call it, cultural conflicts? Let's call it that.” Bruce took Loki's hand. “Loki, where I'm from...it's a terrible, terrible sin...a taboo to have uh, relations with your sibling. Even varying degrees of cousins are frowned upon.”

“Really?” Loki looked shocked.

“Really.”

“How is that possible?”

“Most of it comes from concerns over...well, too much genetic closeness leading to disease and congenital disorders and so forth. Some cultural reasons too...”

“The issues of consanguinity you speak of are non-existent on Asgard,” Loki shrugged. “Our genetics are different; we're not prone to disorders of any type no matter how close the relations. Individual Aesir have greater genetic variation than individual Midgardians, even if they share the same womb.”

“I'm sorry, I'm having trouble processing all this--”

“Then let me give you an example. That's not me.” Loki gave Bruce a little squeeze, as if to reassure him. “Mother has a twin brother, Lord Freyr, king of the Vanir. Among the Vanir, it's not uncommon for twins to run in families. It is a fertile land with few people.”

“I think I see where this is going...” Bruce found himself blushing from sheer embarrassment.

“For years after I was born, there was running speculation among some ignorant people that I was secretly Lord Freyr's son. After all, he is slender and dark-haired like me, whereas Odin's sons tend to run fair.”

“Sons? You mean other than you and your brother?”

“Of course Odin has many other sons than Thor or I,” Loki waved it off. “Despite the fact that Mother and Lord Freyr were each other's first lovers, Mother hasn't been to Vanaheim since she was sent to Asgard as a hostage when she was a girl. She and Lord Freyr haven't seen each other since their youth. It's generally agreed upon that I take after Lord Freyr, but am not his. You understand?”

“Oh.”

“There are terms sometimes, that are not to one's liking, but it keeps the peace.” Loki shrugged.

“Wait, but. Did that um, make anyone question your right of inheritance?”

“Of course not. I was acknowledged by both my parents; my rights are guaranteed.” 

“Even if you weren't their child in any way? I mean, even if one wasn't. Sorry, I didn't mean you specifically. I'm just curious.”

“Even if one wasn't,” Loki kissed Bruce's forehead. “Even if one were a foundling, plucked off a desolate, icy rock.” His smile was brittle.

“This is a lot to take in.” Bruce clasped his fingers together. 

Loki took a deep, shuddering breath and shook his head, as if shaking some thought away. “Certainly... Certainly, as things stand, I can't stay out all night...and well, you should know that I'd prefer to give you something else that is a lot to take in...” Loki gently pushed Bruce down to the bed, straddling Bruce's hips. 

“Loki! Do you really have to say it that way?” Embarrassed, Bruce looked away.

“Bruce.” Cupping his jaw, Loki turned Bruce's head gently, bright eyes meeting his. “Let go of these thoughts that are troubling you. So what if I love Thor; I love you as well. What does it matter? Whatever I have with my brother, I have always had and always will. We were like this even before you knew of it. So what's really changed?”

Bruce thought it over, turning the variables around in his mind. It was a reasoned argument; there was still much he didn't know about Loki, and even knowing that Loki was full of his own secrets didn't stop him from letting Loki take him in that hunting lodge on Vanaheim. “You're right. Yes. That's a good point. I didn't think...”

“And that's the crux of it. Stop thinking so much about this issue; it's of no consequence. It won't make me change how I feel toward you. It won't make me love you less.” Loki tugged off Bruce's shirt, leaving his chest bare, the skin rising to gooseflesh in the cool night air. “Mmm. I've been looking forward to this since Vanaheim.”

“Loki...” Bruce's breath caught as Loki's hands stroked over his chest, grazing his nipples, and there was that sudden burst of strange emotion that went through him, that feeling that he was beginning to recognize as an admixture of fear and longing, nerves tangled up with desire and strung together so tightly that sometimes he wasn't sure which took precedence.

“It feels like it's been too long since then. Far too long. Now this time, I think it would be nice if we tried something new...after all, once to bed isn't really enough to get by on learning all the little things about each other.”

“I guess...you're right. Everything takes practice, even this.” Bruce drew him down for a kiss; there was almost a sweetness to Loki's mouth, those clever lips and tongue, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest at the memory of their time together in Vanaheim.

After that, there was no more to be said, though for a moment he wondered what Loki and his brother were like together, and then immediately banished the thought, embarrassed to have been thinking like that. Whatever Loki had with someone else, whatever Loki was...that hadn't changed; it was just Bruce's knowledge that had changed. So he would endeavor to leave the mystery alone; it really wasn't his business, even if it was at first a shock. There were different normative values to this world's society, and if he was going to adjust, he was going to have to learn to abide by them no matter how strange they seemed at first glance.

Long, lingering kisses slowly began to turn to something else and Bruce ran his hands over Loki's body, the lean arms, the angular edges of his scapulae, and that slender waist, girt with muscle that shifted as Loki did.

Bruce felt his breath catching with mounting desire, and with a sudden decisiveness, he turned them over, pushing Loki onto his back.

“Oh, I like that...”

“Yeah?”

“Very much so. It's not like you to show your feelings easily.”

He bit back a moan as he rubbed his erection along the smooth skin between Loki's thighs.

“Oh yes. You'd like more, wouldn't you?”

“Y-yeah.” But Bruce hesitated, not sure of what to do. Academically, he had some ideas; it wasn't as though he hadn't read on the topic in the past, but there was something missing between theory and application, and he decided it probably had something to do with daring and confidence.

“Well, let me help.” Long fingers curled around his erection and Bruce moaned, shuddering.

“Mmm, so sensitive.” Loki guided him and there was a heat to it, a dampness that was inviting and Bruce felt himself trembling, holding back. He couldn't, could he? This was Loki, this...

“You don't like to open your eyes, do you, Bruce?”

“Oh. I didn't notice.” Realizing his eyes had been screwed shut, as if flinching from a possible blow, Bruce opened his eyes, hesitantly. Sometime between the kissing, between the caressing and the languid, gentle foreplay, Loki had changed.

Angular, boyish hips. Voluptuous breasts flattened slightly with the press of gravity. That slender waist still the same but this time rounded out with feminine softness. The same with the face, the lips, the eyes, all innately Loki but...

“My birthright, if you will. Now, let's continue...” Loki's hands pulled Bruce's hips forward, guiding him in and for a moment, he was almost, almost tempted to just let everything go and follow where Loki led, but then fear shot through him and Bruce jerked away, violently.

“No.” Bruce scrabbled onto his hands and knees away from her, breathing hard, trying to control his desire.

“Bruce?” Loki gave him a curious look. “What's this all about?”

“No, not like this.” Bruce shook his head, choking on his fear. “I didn't agree to this.”

“Recall that I asked you for this next time we'd--” Loki's hand closed over his shoulder, and somehow, without thinking, without meaning to, he struck Loki, shoving her back viciously.

“I said no!”

There was a long and terrible silence as Loki rubbed at the rising red mark on her shoulder. Between one breath and the next, he was male again.

“Well, I suppose that you needn't make yourself more clear than that. You merely had to decline politely if you didn't like what was offered.” There was a certain sardonic dryness to his words that let Bruce know Loki was mad.

“I'm...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...” Bruce pressed his face into his hands, pressing his hands hard against his face, trying not to cry, his breaths coming fast and hard. A stray memory, something that he had worked on forgetting for the longest time; blood. And then it was not merely a stray memory but as if he was back there, in that filthy clinic with his hands in nitrile surgical gloves, completely helpless to do anything but watch. The copper scent of blood choking the musty air, hot blood slicking his hands. So much of it, and with it the screams of pain and the tears and he had to think of something else, anything, to try to push it away.

“Certainly I will think twice in the future before trying to do something nice for you,” Loki snapped and stood imperiously. As he straightened up, he was fully clothed again. “Shall I leave you to consider whatever it is that you would prefer from me? If anything at all?”

“Yes. Yeah. Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean...” And then there was no more to be said, not after Bruce had seen that wound he had inflicted, the red mark on that pale skin that he had left.

A sick, cold sensation crawled up into his chest from his gut, and for a moment he thought that at least he had been spared the pain of seeing that mark on Loki's female self, on a woman's body. The mark that he had inflicted. The thing he had vowed never to do and in a moment's weakness had done.

“I'm so sorry. I don't know...I don't know how to apologize enough...” Bruce looked away, ashamed.

“I suppose this is goodnight then.” Loki set his hand lightly on Bruce's bare shoulder. He heard Loki sigh, just faintly.

Bruce heard Loki's footsteps but didn't see him go. 

Loki paused in the doorway for a long moment before leaving. Bruce never once turned to look at him.

*****

“Something's wrong, isn't it?” Thor sat sprawled out on the divan, Lopt at his side, curled up upon herself in a little ball of orange, her nose tucked under her tail. “I didn't expect you back so soon.”

“It's nothing.” Loki's eyes were faraway, his expression hard, and he gave a little huff as if he was already saying something nasty under his breath.

“I know that look, brother. You're mad. What's he done to offend you?”

“Nothing. It's nothing, and none of your business,” Loki snapped.

“Come on, out with it. You won't be able to sleep if you don't say something.”

“Fine. Fine! You want to hear it? He pushed me away. Me! And what right does he have to push me away like that?” Loki fumed, pacing the room. “I, who only wanted good for him. I, who wanted to surprise him with something I know he would have liked--”

“Maybe he doesn't like surprises.” Thor set his hand lightly over Lopt; she yawned and purred under the heat of his hand. “Maybe you should have asked first.”

“Maybe I should have just let you send him away,” Loki snapped, but then shook his head. “No, ignore that. I take it back. I shouldn't have said that; I didn't mean it at all. Don't get involved in this. This is my problem.”

“Of course not. We've discussed this already. Now that you're king of Asgard, I'm just a friendly visitor who has no bearing on politics of the realm and I will endeavor to stay perfectly neutral, unless it is to support my brother the king.” There was a certain amount of dryness to Thor's tone of voice, a sarcasm that he could not quite completely hide. 

“Yes, and you'd do well to remember that. If you interfere, I might never forgive you.”

“I know, I know.” Thor managed a smile, though it was forced. “Come, Loki.” Thor gestured, reaching for Loki, who sat primly on the other side of the cat, just beyond Thor's reach. “Tell me what happened.”

“I know his preferences; I changed for him. And he rejected me. Utterly. Me! I can't understand what he's thinking. I thought he would like all of me, no matter what...”

“How? How did he reject you?”

“He hit me.”

“I hit you all the time growing up. In fact, I hit you earlier today when you joked about conquering Midgard with an Asgardian army. Of course, you hit me back...”

“It's not the same. We're brothers. It's expected.”

“All right, I'll give you that. But please, as if he could actually hurt you in his mortal form. Are you even bruised?”

“No, of course not. Nothing he could do could possibly hurt me.”

“Loki, you're only mad because your pride's been bruised.” Thor looked amused.

“Easy for you to say; you always take the first swing when someone's dented your ego. I can name at least a hundred different specific instances where you lashed out at someone for such an offense, and those are just the notable cases. We could be here all night at it.”

“No, no.” Thor laughed a little. “That is the old me, even though it was not so long ago when I would have been first to avenge even imagined slights to my honor. The boy who would be king.” He smiled, a little sadly, a little wistfully. “Brother, I've learned much since then on Midgard, about what it is to be humble.”

“Oh? And what's that?”

Thor reached out and drew Loki close, leaning over Lopt, and kissed him on the forehead, the cheek, his beard tickling Loki's skin in that familiar, comfortable way. “For a situation like this...sometimes a mortal lashes out not because they mean to offend, but because they've been hurt. In that, they are so like us.”

“So? Why is this important?” Loki pulled away, unwilling to be teased out of his black mood. “So what that they're like us in many ways? That I know; it's not as if we haven't been in and out of Midgard since we were first old enough to lift our spears in war.”

“Maybe, but this is the first time you've been so close to a Midgardian. And especially this particular one, this Bruce Banner. I think I have known him in ways that you haven't.”

“Are you saying that we've shared him too? Without knowing?” Loki's eyebrows went up. “Brother, why haven't you told me? And shame on Bruce for hiding it from me...”

Thor laughed heartily, and the sound made Lopt stir briefly, before settling back down to sleep. “No, no. It's not like that, not at all. Besides, we already discussed sharing.”

“I keep my mortal to myself and you keep yours to yourself, and we don't disturb their fragile sensibilities with our ways. It's completely fair.”

“Don't forget; we never mention these arrangements to our mortal darlings.”

“Agreed. I doubt that either of them would understand how true brothers share everything.” Loki nudged Thor. “All right now, come on, tell me. What is it that you know about him that I don't?”

“Yes, of course.” Thor sat up, meeting Loki's eyes. “Back a few years ago...when we were on the helicarrier? Is that what it was called?”

“That big flying fortress? Yes, I think it was called that...”

“Whatever the case, back then, your Bruce was upset at being drawn into the drama and the mess of it all, being the only true specialist on a particular radiation. And then...I forget the circumstances, but he told us all a story. About...” Here Thor shook his head at the memory. “About how he wanted to end his life, but he was saved by his other self.”

“Excuse me? Are we talking about the same man?”

“Yes. The one and same. I remember his words well. He said he saw no future for himself, an existence that he could not bear. So he tried to shoot himself in the head, but it failed. His other self refused to let him die.”

“Ah, Bruce...” Loki's breath caught. 

“Maybe he hasn't said much to you. But...sometimes I had the impression that here was a man who had seen much evil deep in himself, and sought to remedy it by doing good for others.” Thor shrugged. “He was burdened then. I don't know if much could have changed over the years. It has been a long time for a mortal perhaps, but not that long for us.”

“I see.” Loki's brow furrowed; he could not imagine that this too was a facet of Bruce, who always seemed so steady and reliable, hardly ever more than annoyed at anything, amiable and comfortable to be around. It was as though they were talking about another person entirely.

“Whatever's happened to him in the past...” And here Thor kissed him gently. “...is part of who he is now. You ought to find him and find out what's truly upset him. I can't believe that it's you he's upset with; perhaps you inadvertently set off a bad memory hiding deep inside him. There must be something more to it than what's obvious; these mortals can be very complicated, with deep feelings that they hide from all others. Trust me, I've had a lot of experience. Whatever it is that you see in him, if you truly care for him like you've told me, it's worth sorting out.”

“I suppose you're right.” Loki sighed against his brother's lips, drawing back. “Tomorrow then, or the day after. I think he needs some time to work his own problems out.”

“Whatever you think is best. Though admittedly it's rather late right now to walk down to the city. Unless of course, you'd like me to fly you down?”

“No. Not tonight. I'll...I have to think this over, Thor. I'm not sure I can approach him just yet. Not while I'm still angry.”

“It's up to you, Loki.” 

“Let's...let's just go to bed.” 

Loki opened his arms, letting Thor pull him onto his feet. Enveloped in that familiar, comfortable embrace, Thor guided the way to bed.

*****

Loki threw himself into the business of court; it was easy to be distracted by all the little intrigues and bits of business that came before the court: judgments over land and resource allocations, settling petty feuds, and receiving dispatches from the off-world battles that came in every day. His armies were approaching victory where they were sent; those of the Three that were off-world leading the armies were taking their duties seriously.

So that evening, when he had finished dinner and was finishing off the last of his mead, chasing it with a mouthful of bitter tea that was even more bitter with the sweetness of the wine, he was surprised to see his chamberlain catch his eye, asking for a moment alone.

It took a few minutes before he was able to extract himself from the dinner party; he met the chamberlain outside, in a sheltered niche of the great hall.

They spoke briefly, formally; the information was passed on quickly. Loki dismissed the man with his thanks, and it took him a moment to get himself together, to force himself calm. Carefully, considering all forms of protocol and etiquette despite his immediate anxiety, he went back to the party. 

He caught Thor's eye over the table and gave his brother that sign, in the language that they had made together before they could even speak, the secret tongue of twins, a knowing look they had exchanged so many times at so many of these parties over the years. It had been a long time since he had used it, and there was a deep sense of nostalgia at the act.

The two left the party separately over the course of an hour and met at their favorite rendezvous, high above the great throne of the All-Father where there was a chamber, disused and long-forgotten. Once it had been a place for important courtiers to assemble before visiting the throne; it had a direct view of the great assembly hall, but now it was bare and dusty, but for the heavy wooden furnishings that were too troublesome to move.

They didn't say much, but they never really needed to say much, not when it mattered. There was always a certain understanding that the two had, especially in times of trouble and strife. Quickly, they left to find a deserted balcony, and Loki wrapped his arms around Thor's shoulders as they took off.

 

Fandral's house was silent but for the rushing sound of the sea; the house was dark. As the servant had said, no one was home and the food that was brought down twice a day had been untouched. It wasn't like Bruce to waste anything or to miss a meal unless he was very ill. The brothers looked around the house cautiously, but it seemed that Bruce had been staying in the library, sleeping on the big daybed under the tall glass-paned window; none of the other rooms looked as though they had been in use.

Bruce's glasses were folded neatly, left atop an open book, as if he had set them down to rest his eyes. The page was open and Loki glanced at it; it was a consolation through philosophy; questions about life and love that could never properly be answered. Only question after question, without answers.

“He's not here.” Puzzled, Loki looked around the house again, as if he could find Bruce hiding under a bit of furniture or behind a door.

“He wouldn't leave on his own, would he?”

“He's left before. He told me himself he made a choice to leave his friends once, to live in the desert.” Loki sighed, shaking his head. “But he wouldn't leave his glasses...that doesn't seem right. This is his only pair. He's a little bit near-sighted, not enough for it to really affect him, but just enough so that if he reads for a long time without his glasses, it gives him a headache...”

“I'll ask at the Bifrost. You keep looking.” And with that, Thor stepped outside and was gone in a rush of wind.

Loki looked around again before going back to the kitchen. He opened the stoneware pot; the chickpeas and lentils were untouched and the cubes of pumpkin that jutted unevenly from the stew were dried out, desiccated.

How many days had it been since they had argued? More than two. Loki shook his head; he had lost track of time in his work. Now was the apex of the business of court, when things were most complicated and busy; he would need another day at least before things settled down enough for him to deal with Bruce; did Bruce not understand that?

There were no clues; no loose bits of papers to check for ideas on Bruce's state of mind, no bank or credit card statements to chase after. No kidnappers; likely Bruce just wandered off for a walk. But would he have gone off on his own without a word? And where? For so long? Asgard was a small place; he couldn't have gone far. But given the state of the food, he had been gone for at least a day or more.

Since their fight. 

Loki sighed, shaking his head. In retrospect, he wished he had gone back immediately to work things out; Bruce probably needed him and he failed. But he had been angry; there were harsh words said even to Thor and he couldn't trust himself...

Thor. The fight. An argument that only Thor knew about, and only Thor knew how long he was planning to stay away from Bruce. Bruce missing in the time between, and now Thor was talking to the guardian of the Bifrost. Heimdall, who had always been a staunch and loyal supporter of his father and his brother. Heimdall who could control access to the Nine Realms, and who Loki had reinstated only cautiously after a short exile as a general for the armies, proving his loyalty through war. Heimdall, who his brother could easily have subverted for the minor task of sending a mortal back to where they belonged, back to Midgard where Bruce would be whisked away under supposed protective custody by the men of S.H.I.E.L.D., never to be seen again...

And Loki unable to maintain his authority as his brother undermined him before the whole court, and as Thor's faction used this one little trivial act to undo months of Loki's work consolidating his hold on the throne...perhaps leading him to be deposed and exiled, this time for good. 

“THOR!”

*****

When Bruce regained consciousness, everything hurt. He had only vague memories of what had happened, little bits of insight that were so fragmented that they were essentially useless. All he could think was that someone must have been suborned, bribed, blackmailed, or forced by some means to dose his food and drink. It must have been going on for days now. Whatever it was, it was similar to Loki's potion but not the same; he could feel the other guy just faintly, from a distance, if he was searching hard, but wherever the other guy was, he was chained and bound, too far for him to reach.

He moaned as he moved, his body wracked with pain. Whatever beating he had sustained was severe; he had never felt like this before, not even when he was a boy. Was anything broken? Hopefully not, but he could barely move.

His mouth tasted like blood, and his face was stiff, and touching it carefully, he realized it was stuck over with dried, cracking flakes of his own blood.

Wherever he was, it was dark, and he forced himself slowly to crawl, inching toward a sliver of light, every motion agony, toward something like a window, but more like an open seam between two columns.

The night sky, crowded with stars and those wispy interstellar clouds of stardust that could not be easily seen from Earth, even on the darkest night. Below, a sea of storm clouds crackled lightning over the city, and he wondered how he could be higher than the clouds, until he realized that the palace had a magnificent spire that shot into the heavens.

What was up there? He searched his memories, and could only come up with some talk Loki had about mechanisms for the palace, protective machinery that channeled power through the whole of Asgard, shielding it from harm. Channeling power...that meant that the structure was probably thick with radiation, and he almost laughed after a moment's panic about radiation exposure. For a second he had forgotten how much he had been exposed to already. As if more could hurt him now.

The door opened. So there was a door, that was reasonable; he caught a glimpse of the bright hallway beyond and the room he was in, some sort of storage room or machine room, obviously long unused and forgotten, and before he could make a sound or move to get up, the swing of a booted foot came at his head and suddenly there was nothing but blackness.

His dreams were full of pain and blood and a past he could not escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I always forget to add the notes until a few days after I post. There is a reference (ahem, accusation by Loki) in the Lokasenna to Vili and Ve (Odin's brothers) having affairs with Frigga. I've reinterpreted this to full-blooded siblings having conjugal rights over each other's lovers. So Frigga and Lord Lothur? In theory, it could have happened... 
> 
> I combined the mythological Frigga and Freya. So in the Lokasenna when Freya is accused of incest with Freyr, that's now basically a normalized relationship between Frigga and Freyr (who are now the ones that are twins).
> 
> The Heimskringla has a reference to Vanaheim and Asgard exchanging hostages to end the Aesir-Vanir war. In the original text, Freyr is one of the hostages; I replaced him with Frigga for obvious reasons. By coincidence, Loki resembles Lord Freyr more so than Odin or Frigga. There will be some more about this in the next chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

Loki was angry, crying; he wanted to hurt Thor as much as Thor had hurt him, but that was impossible. It seemed that he could never hit Thor as hard as he wanted to, he could never do anything to Thor with enough force to make his brother do more than laugh. It was exactly as he had overheard people say; he was too weak, too puny, not strong enough or fit enough to be a proper son of Odin. Not like Thor in any way, blond and stoutly built, thoughtlessly strong and arrogant with it. He would always be nothing more than a dark, spindly shadow, a foreigner's son despite sharing the same womb.

He was young, but it wasn't as though he hadn't heard the rumors for as long as he could remember, the hissed epithets on the training grounds. “Freyrson. Vanirson.” No proper Odinson was he, at least not in the eyes of others. Odin's sons grew tall and broad and fair; he was tall for his age, fractionally taller than Thor finally (not that it could possibly last for long) but dark-haired and skinny, not like his brother at all.

And now they were leaving him behind again, even Fandral, who was the first person he had become close to who wasn't Thor. The first friend he ever made, who played with him and stayed with him even while Thor went off with his older friends, Lady Sif and the trainer from the Three, Volstagg.

Fandral, who he traded books with every week, who was his favorite study partner, clever and witty but hard-working. Fandral, who always bested him at dueling, but never rubbed it in, shrugging off his victories as if it were mere luck and not pure skill. Fandral, who eagerly joined him in his pranks and then helped him talk them out of trouble. Fandral who always kissed his bruised knuckles when no one was looking... But even Fandral didn't say no to Thor's invitation. No one did; Thor was too well-liked.

Thor's betrayal stung, and angrily, Loki wiped at his tears. He was supposed to have gone too, but it wasn't the same; Thor hadn't invited him, not explicitly. Expectation and invitation were two different things, and Loki knew it keenly.

From his hiding place up in the palace, in a disused storage room tucked between floors, he could see them gather in the courtyard, waiting the grooms to bring the horses around before heading off, and he wondered if they were having more fun now that he wasn't in the way, now that he wasn't slowing them down.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he curled up on himself as if he had been mortally wounded. The pain was sharp, and it seemed unending, as if his entire world was that pain. 

He fell asleep, sobbing weakly.

 

Someone came to get him, someone always did, and more like than not, it was Hogun the Grim. He woke abruptly at the sound of the opening door. It was already nightfall and he realized he had lost track of how long he had been hiding. He found a new place every time, but somehow Hogun was always able to ferret him out of his hiding places.

He froze, hoping the light streaming in from the doorway wouldn't illuminate him. He thought of the spell his mother had taught him, the one that would make him invisible, and carefully cast it with a tiny motion of his hand.

Hogun stood in the doorway, wary, and suddenly Loki knew he had miscalculated; the man was damnably hard to trick. Frowning to himself, he sat up very slowly and carefully, hoping he wasn't moving enough for Hogun to notice.

“Your mother is worried.” Hogun, who never said more than what was necessary, came at him immediately before Loki could make a break for it. Even though Loki knew he had cast the spell perfectly, the warrior scooped him up in his arms. The field that had kept him hidden broke suddenly as Loki squirmed, trying to get away, but Hogun's arms were powerfully strong and his hands were firm, pinning the boy easily.

“I don't care. Leave me alone!” Loki's voice was shrill to his own ears. He struggled fiercely, but Hogun was undeterred.

Hogun caught Loki by the jaw, gently turning his head so that their eyes met. The warrior's dark eyes were strange, unreadable. In the low light they seemed almost solid black, and were so alien to him as to be almost repulsive. Loki never understood how Hogun could be mother's oldest friend, a fellow hostage from Vanaheim.

“She won't say it, but she needs you. Go to her.” 

“How would you know? You're just one of the Three,” Loki kicked at the man, but Hogun was implacable, fending off Loki's blow as casually as swatting at a fly.

Hogun said nothing in response, but he set Loki down, and bent down on one knee so that their eyes were almost level. He handed Loki a damp cloth, folded into a square. “Don't keep her waiting.” 

Loki took the cloth and scrubbed at his face before running his hands through his hair, trying to make himself look presentable. Hogan was right; there was decorum, there was a formality and etiquette to his life, to his position, to his existence, a formality that he could never breach, and he could not, would not let anyone see that he had been crying.

“Thank you, Hogun.”

Hogun said nothing but as he stood, he straightened a lock of Loki's dark hair, making sure the part was neat. Silently, he offered Loki his sword-hand, an affirmation of trust. Grasping it firmly, feeling the man's calloused fingertips, he let Hogun lead the way to his mother's rooms.

 

When Hogun turned the corner of the hallway toward the wing of the palace where his rooms were, he was immediately relieved; it meant that she was meeting him in neutral territory, in the library study room adjoining his bedroom. That meant that his father wouldn't hear about what had happened today, and that if it came up, she would protect him from castigation. The prospect of possibly facing his father had made him sick with anxiety walking back, and he swallowed, glad to have been exempted, if only this one time.

Hogun left him with her without a word, but the man had given his hand a firm squeeze, as if to remind him of his obligations. Loki bowed formally before he stepped toward her, unsure of her feelings. Once she reached out for him, he knew that she had been upset.

She didn't say much; she didn't pet him or fuss over him; that was never their way. But he leaned against her all the same, letting her warm breath ruffle his hair, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

He knew she wanted to tell him that she had been worried, that she was upset, but he had a man's pride now that he was nine, and he wasn't about to be coddled.

“Loki.”

“Mother?”

“Hogun tells me you've become very adept at finding hiding places. I think he's having more and more trouble finding you every time you go missing. This time it took him almost all day.”

Ashamed, Loki had nothing to say.

She kissed the top of his head, he could feel her hands sliding through his hair gently, stroking the black locks that no one else seemed to love but her.

“Do you want to see the best hiding place I ever found?”

 

Mother never bothered with the silly disguise of hooded cloaks that were the fashion among the nobles of the palace, so typical that anyone wearing such a cloak was reckoned immediately to be from the palace and trying to hide it; she merely strode out boldly, invisible to others. She had taught him the trick too; he wasn't quite as good at it yet, but if he kept close, something of the field she was surrounded with could keep him hidden as well, appearing to be no more than a little rush of air as he passed by.

They took a skiff from the far docks. There was a certain familiarity to her actions that gave him the sense that she did this often, when her duties didn't bind her to the palace. There was something exciting to that thought, that Mother would sneak out of the palace to ride the open seas and waterways alone, her long, curling locks streaming in the wind.

She took the tiller and guided the skiff expertly. The wind caught in his hair and he was lost with it, the night air icy against his face. He could hear her laugh at the joy of freedom, at the beauty of the night sky, and at the landscape of stone and lights that rushed by so quickly that he forgot to look for the great statues of Bor and Buri as they passed out of the city proper.

They flew into the lake country, vast ancient calderas from the Forging now filled with fresh water, great rings of stone that rose to jagged ridges and mountain peaks. She turned the tiller and aimed the skiff at one of these ancient peaks.

“Mother!” He caught her eye, and they smiled at each other; hers had the stiffness of concentration, but still she steered the skiff forward, her eyes bright.

Higher and higher the skiff flew, and he didn't even know if it could stand the elevation change, and then she swung it hard, so that it skittered through the air, sliding sideways until it halted neatly at the entrance of a narrow cave. The jerk of the g-force shoved him against the side of the skiff, but he laughed; it was thrilling, to see this side of his mother that he had never known.

Frigga hopped off the side of the skiff and into the cave; she offered Loki her arms and he flung himself into her embrace.

 

“When I was a girl,” and he had never really heard this story; he knew from gossip, from the official annals he had studied, but he never had heard it from her before. “I was sent here to seal the peace. Myself, Hogun...a few others. And some Asgardians were sent to Vanaheim at the time too, like your uncle Hoenir, called Vili, whom you have never met.”

Loki followed her, gripping her slender hand tightly as they walked deep into the cavern, and the pressing darkness around them was lit softly with her stars, burning points of light that orbited in a stately, localized field around them.

“The day I arrived was the day the fighting stopped. Your father wasn't even in the palace to greet me. He was still on the battlefield, elbows deep in blood. But once word was sent that the hostages arrived on both sides, there was great relief as the call to peace was made. Many people died in that war. It colored all our lives.”

“Did you fight too?”

“No.” She laughed, a short bitter sound. “I wanted to though. But I was too young to do more than watch. We all were. Of course, that didn't keep us from playing at war. You know, your uncle Freyr, Hogun the Grim, and I were our own Warriors Three in those days. Always hunting and fighting and getting into trouble.”

“Really?”

“Truly.” She stopped and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. Something about the darkness in the cave had changed, something that Loki couldn't quite place, as if the dark had grown denser or perhaps somehow fissile with energy. There was a charge in the air, a tingling power that made his bones veritably itch with excitement. 

“Now, you must promise. This is a special place that must be kept a secret between the two of us. You mustn’t tell anyone else about this, not even your brother or your father.”

“I swear, and I will solemnly abide by my oath.” He pressed his right fist over his heart, as he had been taught, and she smiled.

“Good. Now watch closely.” She took his hand and they took one more step forward into the sparkling darkness and...

A moment later, they were sliding down through the black sands of a vast, unknown desert, and it was no longer night but grim, baleful daylight, where a cold, heatless sun stayed low on the horizon and did not move, did not budge, tinting the whole world with a sickly pallor.

“Mother!” He reached out for her as they slid down the steep side of the great dune. Surefooted, she scooped him up in her arms when he fumbled and lost his footing.

“I have you. I won't let you go.” She held him close, swinging him against her hip for balance, and he clung to her with all his might.

Moments later, they skidded to a halt; there was a stylish flair to the way she landed, barely stirring the long, flowing lines of her dress.

“Welcome to Svartalfheim.” Frigga set Loki down, and he scrambled forward, stumbling over the dried and deteriorating bones of the past. Wide-eyed, he looked around; here was the great battlefields of the sagas, the shattered ships and the crumbling bones, the broken shields, the sundered spears.

“There is a theory that Asgard is path-connected to all the nine realms. In the first few years I lived on Asgard, I found all the secret connections to the other realms, but for two. The two missing pathways are to Midgard and Vanaheim.” There was a sadness to her eyes that he had never seen before.

“Mother, do you miss Vanaheim?”

“Of course. I always will. But it's been so long that Asgard is my home now, my only home. And besides,” she smiled faintly. “I wouldn't want to be the bringer of war. If I went back...there might be war again.”

“Why? I thought we are at peace forever with the Vanir. Isn't that how the Aesir were joined? Through the union of the two realms?”

“Yes. That's true. Asgard and Vanaheim are both great realms, with great power, matched evenly in their own ways. We fought since the beginning, Asgard for Vanaheim's riches, Vanaheim for self-preservation. Sometimes I think the only reason I was born was to end the war. To bind Asgard and Vanaheim together as a new clan in marriage.” Her expression was distant, her eyes searching the horizon; he wondered what she was looking at. Was it the monumental remains of a svartalfr ship, jutting out from the ruined landscape? Or was it something else entirely?

“No, were I to return to Vanaheim, it would be a slight to your father's honor. It would not be proper if his queen is seen preferring the lands of her people to the lands of his might and sovereignty. Even an innocent visit could be interpreted as a break between your father and I, and that must never be seen as the case. This is important, Loki; you must always remember this.” Their eyes met, and he felt the immediate gravity of the moment, realizing this was something he had to always remember and that was why she brought him here, to this ruined and crumbling world. 

“Look around you. This dead realm is the result of decisions that only the king can make, decisions that affect the lives of all the Nine Realms. Had Bor chosen differently, perhaps Asgard would have looked like this ruined world and all the galaxy plunged into darkness. To be king, you must hold your honor as high as your justice because your reputation depends on it. A cruel king might be forgiven if he is strong and defends the realm in battle. But to be seen as weak or indecisive will ruin a man, much less a realm. It is a hard life to live, with hard choices to make. If it were easy, everyone would do it. But it is not, and that is why only you and your brother will be kings.”

“I won't be indecisive. I won't be weak.”

“And don't forget; you must keep your honor. Promise me that.”

“I promise.”

“Then that means you must no longer hide when you are upset at your brother or anyone else for that matter.” She knelt so that they were at eye level, and took his hands. “There is to be no more hiding. You must face your problems head-on like a true warrior. Your dignity and pride should not allow it.”

Tears wobbled his vision, and he clung to her and she to him.

“I'm sorry, Mother. I won't...I won't hide anymore.”

She stroked his hair, his back, and held him tight as he wept. “Loki. You're the son I always wanted...”

*****

Loki looked up when he heard the door open; had he been lost in thought for so long? He set the rock back down on the bookshelf, a black, glassy, pitted and cratered thing, about the size of a small apple though much denser. That was from a long time ago when they were still boys. Back then, Thor had managed to convince Heimdall into sending them to Svartalfheim for a few hours: the two brothers, Fandral, and Sif. They had wandered over the desolation, a desolation that Loki remembered from a younger age but said nothing of, and came back with few souvenirs, as so much was in ruin that there was really no point to it.

Sand had been heat-blasted into thin sheets of viscous glass and shattered. Metals were rusted beyond rust, so that they crumbled at the touch. Even enduring bone no longer could bear even the brush of a booted foot; everything turned to dust at the touch.

The four of them had roamed the wasteland, playing at warriors in their minds but carefully reverent as they wandered through the battlefields. Yet reverence was no cure for boldness; they even clambering into the hulking, fissured heap of a svartalfr ship, its electronics blasted in the moment that it crashed. He remembered wondering that were it were able to project information, would it be frozen to the date and time that it came down, killing so many of its own people?

But that memory paled in contrast to his first visit with his mother, as a boy whose whose tears dried to his cheeks on the harsh desert plain of Svartalfheim, a boy whose mother enfolded him against her silken dress, the mingled scent of herbs and that wash she liked for her hair that came all the way from Vanaheim, resinous with the scent of its vast forests, enfolding him against the ashen taste of dust.

And it was in this memory, the sharp pain of knowing how he had been in the wrong, and being confronted with it, reminded Loki how to comport himself. Like Mother had said; he had to keep his honor, but what that meant evolved as he came into his majority, even more so now that he was king. It would be easy, too easy to fight with Thor over this, whether it was Thor's fault or not. To rail and cry, to push and argue and make a scene. But that was the boy, the failure of a second son who was too often the scandal of the court, wicked and headstrong.

He was king and right now he could not afford to be that person, no matter how tempting it was, and oh, it was so very tempting.

Loki needed clear-headed thinking and cunning to find and reclaim Bruce; he couldn't let his feelings overwhelm him as he would have when he was even a few years younger, the embittered, feckless second son with no real responsibilities and no prospects for the future, unreliable and untrustworthy.

Perhaps that was the true value of his friendship with Bruce, he thought wryly. Putting logic between him and his own feelings, the way Bruce quietly struggled with the other guy, a struggle that seemed to be a little easier every year.

Remembering the fragility of Bruce's state, his uneasy mastering of the other guy in those early years as compared to how confident Bruce was in his control now gave Loki some hope; perhaps he too could control this anger before Thor found him...

“I'm sorry, brother. He's not been near the Bifrost. But what's strange is that he's also out of Heimdall's sight. Something...seems to be obscuring his vision.”

“Yes. I see.” Loki nodded graciously, even as he seethed internally. Was it true? Could he trust Thor on this matter? “Well. That is rather unusual. I suppose we'll have to make a few discreet inquiries of our own. Or hope that he finds his way back somehow. Some combination of the two, more like it than not.”

“Loki?” Thor looked surprised; it seemed that he had expected a fight. The way he was holding Mjolnir, that restless way his hand gripped the handle made Loki realize that Thor was almost a little nervous. That helped quell the anger a little; it was always more amusing to do what was unexpected. He wondered how easily he could discomfit his brother; he imagined that was a skill he would never quite lose the knack for...

But then he blurted out what was on his mind unthinkingly, feeling himself on the verge of picking a fight. “It seems terribly convenient that Bruce's location is obscured, especially on the word of one of your staunchest friends and supporters...” Then Loki shook his head, waving it off with a weary gesture. “Never mind that. Now brother. Please. Just tell me the truth.”

“I didn't take him, I swear. And as far as I know, Heimdall speaks the truth. I have not seen Bruce since that first day, when you had him bundled away, out of sight.” There was an almost accusatory tone to Thor's words, as if he was angry that Loki hadn't trusted him to be around Bruce, but Loki bit back angry words; it was bait for a familiar trap of dispute that he was unwilling to fall into.

As calmly as he could manage, he measured out the words carefully. “How do I know you're not lying?” Loki glanced up at Thor's face, and Thor looked upset, though from what source he could not say.

“You don't. But you have my word that it was not me.”

Loki stared at his hands, already unknowingly balled into fists, and then sighed, shaking them out, forcing his fingers to relax.

“All right. Fine. I don't know whether to believe you or not...but I know you were sincere about giving up the crown. So here we are, at a conundrum.”

“Loki. Whatever the case, it does not benefit me to hurt you. When we were boys, there were times when I was thoughtlessly cruel,” and here, Loki's eyebrows shot up; this was the first time he had ever heard Thor directly allude to his own specific wrongdoing – whatever happened on Midgard in the last few years really had changed Thor, almost completely. “But I swear, brother, that I am not involved in this. I would not dare to harm the state of the realm, not when the situation is so...fragile. Besides, you'd tear up Midgard searching for him if I sent him back, and I am sworn to defend it. We may fight as brothers but we shall never war as brothers, not if I can help it.”

Loki was silent for a long moment, thinking over Thor's words, and suddenly he remembered something that Bruce had recently said. He couldn't remember the exact words, but he could remember the sentiment. It was the past, and he had to forgive that self from the past. If that were true, could he not extend that forgiveness to his brother for the same mistakes made in childhood?

He looked at Thor; there was a look of concern in his bright eyes, and Loki realized it was a look of sympathy, of empathy. Could he reconcile this against the brash, arrogant youth of the past? Or rather, could he leave behind the memory of his brother as a child, and go forward from here with the man Thor had become?

Loki closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, almost giddy from the sudden epiphany.

“I...I appreciate your loyalty to Asgard, brother. You have always loved Asgard, and you have always loved me, and I should do well to remember it. I know I have your support, and you have my trust.”

“Then by all rights, you should root out any traitors in your household and in the households of all the lords and ladies of the court. Look into Bruce's enemies; Sif told me something about some courtier that Bruce embarrassed before all the lords--”

There was a moment when that seemed exactly like the right thing to do, to follow where Thor led and to let him take charge of everything. It would be like the past, fighting back-to-back, shoulder-to-shoulder, until Thor inevitably didn't need any assistance and the rest of them were left to gape in awe at his powers, at his natural abilities augmented by the great powers bestowed upon him. But then Loki raised his hand, in a gesture of practiced authority, cutting Thor off.

Thor looked genuinely surprised, but then he begrudgingly nodded acquiescence, gesturing for Loki to continue.

“For the sake of the throne, Thor, let us keep our inquiries discreet. There are some people I'd like to speak to about this situation, and I would appreciate your help organizing and interviewing them. Bruce being taken cannot be known by anyone else other than you and I and no more than a few trusted allies. Were it to be common knowledge...”

“It would show that you've been undermined. I understand.” 

“We can't have that now, can we?” Loki's lips quirked wryly. “Let us return to the palace. I need to ask Mother for a favor. And there's something that I need you to do for me as well.”

*****

Dust. Crumbled stone falling onto bare flesh. Deeply asleep, but dragged out of his dreams, Bruce swiped at his face, trying to fend off the shower of dirt and suddenly he woke coughing, or perhaps half-woke was more like it; he was so drowsy that his entire body felt sluggish, leaden. He cracked open his eyes and saw the pale light of early morning, or perhaps early evening; it was hard to say. Disoriented, he briefly wondered if he was still on Vanaheim, and if he looked out a window there would be snow covering the landscape and ice limning the eaves. But no, he was lying on something that was almost like a thin quilted mattress in some sort of machine room, different from the room he had been in previous. He could almost feel the buzz, the vibration of great mechanical works that comprised the room around him, as if he were a tiny microbe, an intruder in the great beating heart of a massive organism.

Cautiously he moved; there was a memory of pain, but his body felt fine, as if it were merely a bad dream. But then he licked his dry lips, and there, melting onto his tongue, was a flake of dried blood.

“You're all right. You're safe here.” A meek young man smiled reassuringly, wiping dusty hands with a damp cloth. Did Bruce recognize him at all? No, but he was dressed in the ubiquitous drab garments of a servant of the palace. No great villain was this one, merely one of the anonymous legion of men and women that served to keep the massive system running smoothly.

Bruce tried to speak and he found he couldn't. His mouth and throat were dry, so dry that the roof of his mouth was like sandpaper against the tip of his questing tongue. The young man handed him a metallic cup that seemed immodestly small in contrast to Bruce's thirst, and gingerly, Bruce sat up, drinking quickly, emptying the drink in one long draught. He cleared his throat, faintly tasting blood in his mouth, and tried again.

“What's going on? Why am I covered in...dirt and pebbles?” Bruce picked up a fragment of a stone, and rubbed it between his fingertips; it disintegrated easily into a fine powder that clung to his skin, strangely warm, febrile, as if somehow it were alive.

“You were accidentally injured. These are healing stones,” the young man bowed as best he could from his sitting position, shy, as if unaccustomed to speaking so much or faintly embarrassed to be answering Bruce's question. “Would you care for some more water? Wine?”

“Yes, please. More water that is. No wine. I can pour it myself if you don't mind.”

The cup was refilled, a few times, and every time Bruce drank it down thoughtlessly, before remembering about three or four cups in that his food or drink had been dosed. At this point he almost didn't care anymore; he'd die faster of dehydration than from whatever plot had been hatched. Besides, he reasoned, whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and he was still alive, which meant that the plot was unlikely to be most foul. Were that the case, he would already be dead. No, this was something else entirely.

But what about the injuries he remembered sustaining? They were obviously tended to, and quite thoroughly, though Bruce couldn't imagine why he would be injured. Did he fight his captors? That seemed unlikely; he felt that he would have remembered it, unless he had suffered a blow so severe that his short-term memory was affected, which he suspected it was, as he had almost no memory of being abducted. Or...and the epiphany came over him uneasily; perhaps those who had captured him had little discipline or compunction and had gone against the wishes of their master, doling out some retribution on the sly, hoping no one would notice or care. 

Though there was a sudden jolt of anxiety that went through him when he imagined for a moment that this was the modus operandi of Asgardian torturers, hurting one day and healing the next only to repeat the cycle. Bruce shook his head; this was no time for panicked speculation. If something was going to happen, he'd find out eventually, probably sooner than later.

Bruce made a little movement, cautiously stretching, testing the integrity of his ribs, which he recalled were hurt so badly that he almost had trouble breathing. But his body felt fine, not even particularly sore, and it almost made him wonder if it had been a dream, but for the evidence to the contrary.

“I've brought you food. And if you like, I can bring a small basin for you to wash up with later.”

“Thanks. I'd appreciate that. So,” And here Bruce paused, trying to think through what to say, but then just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. ”Any chance I get to find out who's behind all this?”

“Sorry. I'm just a servant.” The young man shrugged, as if embarrassed or perhaps more sinisterly, fearful of some powerful master. “I'm just following orders.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry. I get that you can't answer that.” Bruce half-closed his eyes, trying to think of a good question, but failing to do more than ask about the obvious. “Um. Any chance I get to know what your orders are?”

“Just to take care of you. Sorry, I don't know more than that.”

“Right.” Bruce sighed. He didn't have the heart to do it; he couldn't muster the will to pull his best professor face and try to bully the truth out of the young man. The servant was obviously a pawn and likely knew nothing of what his master wanted. The servant set up dinner for him; it was simple and hearty, and half-starved, Bruce ate it down to chasing crumbs of bread with his fingertips.

In time, the servant cleared out the dishes and brought him some hot water to clean with; Bruce scrubbed himself approximately clean, though leaving a washbasin full of blood-stained water, dregs gritty with the fine powder left from the healing stones. He felt better despite everything, wrapped up snugly in what he recognized as indoor clothes, something almost like pajamas, but not the ones he had waiting for him back in Loki's rooms. These clothes were obviously made for someone else, someone not of the same stature as a royal favorite, simply and almost roughly cut and stitched, neutral and colorless, without much regard toward tailoring or adornment. He wondered who it belonged to, or from whom it had been borrowed from. His own bloodstained clothes were taken away without comment.

But the more Bruce sat thinking, the more tired he felt and he was now fairly certain that he had been drugged and allowed to wake for the sake of nourishment and water. But whatever he took in, whether it was the food or drink, that had been dosed too. The exhaustion in his body felt deep, complete. Bruce felt himself wavering, and he managed to collapse mostly on the bedding, which had been replaced with a clean set while he had washed up. Hopefully this detail meant that they probably weren't going to kill or torture him, not if he was being treated so well. He tried to remember what had happened over the last few hours? Days? He swiped weakly at his face, trying to gauge from the growth of his beard but then it was starting to feel as though it were too much to manage and he closed his eyes. 

The last thing he remembered before passing out was trying to reach out to that other self inside, out of habit, only to find the familiar beast that stirred within was not quite there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Svartalfheim imagery is taken from the second Thor movie. You might notice a significant line of Frigga's that references that movie.
> 
> In the first movie, Loki as a boy is slightly taller than Thor.
> 
> I have a note here that says "frost giants are a lot bigger but not necessarily stronger because they depend on their ice magic for defense." So being half-Aesir makes Loki not quite as physically strong as the others. 
> 
> As mentioned in the previous chapter, by chance, Loki bears resemblence to Frigga's brother, whom she loved. Frigga's last line in the flashback is about her longing for a past that is now forever lost to her.
> 
> One more note from my file: "To punish the dark elves, Bor pointed their realm at two stars (or vice versa, never decided this formally), so that it would always be bathed in light." The stars point at their capital city, and at the last great battlefield of the war.


	10. Chapter 10

“Well, of course Lord Lothur, I've certainly put thought into the status of our armies; how could I not?” Loki gestured elegantly with his cup before draining it and setting it down. A servant stepped forward and unobtrusively refilled it. He dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “They're winning their battles, they're provisioned and accounted for; what else is necessary at this time?”

“My king, your generals still await their orders.” Lothur leaned forward over his emptied plate, his fists on the table, meeting Loki's eyes with an intense look of curiosity. “Are you certain you're not being distracted by something? Of late, you seem tired, less focused--”

“Why should I be distracted? Brother, please. Stop stealing off my plate; you have your own.”

“Not until you stop stealing off mine.” Thor took another slice of bread layered with smoked fish off of Loki's plate. 

“I merely like the way you make yours better than the way I make mine.”

“The same holds true for me, brother.” Thor looked terribly pleased with himself as he ate Loki's breakfast.

“Then we are at an impasse.” And with that, Loki stole a piece of bread spread with jam off Thor's plate and took a vindictive bite.

“My king,” Lothur shook his head and stroked his long, gray beard. “If you think this is seemly behavior at the table--”

“Oh come now, Lord Lothur. I'm merely enjoying my brother's company.” Loki grinned at Thor, who grinned back at him mischievously. “This is long overdue time with him while he's visiting from Midgard. Of course you understand. After all, you too have brothers.”

“Yes, I understand entirely, though my approval is another thing completely. Perhaps we should move this meeting to another time...” Lothur pushed his chair back.

“Nonsense, let's finish; we're nearly done. Now, as you were saying about the orders, I think it would be best if we were to--”

The guards opened the great brazen doors and Bruce came in, flanked by Sif. He looked tired, somewhat ill at ease, and he walked forward stiffly to the great table.

“Ah, Dr. Bruce Banner. We've missed you at court,” Lothur seemed begrudgingly pleased to see Bruce, though his arrival interrupted the meeting with Loki. “I hear you've been ill?”

“Not really. Um, that is, maybe a little, like...like a cold. Yes, that was it, a cold. Nothing serious, really. Just...out of sorts, I suppose.”

“Your voice does sound rather hoarse. And your eyes are somewhat glaring and bloodshot; have you not slept well?”

“I think I'm still adjusting,” Bruce managed a weak smile and sat down at Loki's left-hand side. Sif joined him, her mouth pursed in a tight smile. 

“Then you should eat and regain your strength.”

“Good idea.” Bruce set to eating and heartily, piling up a slice of rye bread with various meats and cheeses.

“It's good to see that your appetite's better.” Loki smiled lightly, playfully as he turned back to Lothur. “This one has not slept or eaten well for days. Sometimes he works too hard at his studies and forgets to take care of himself. Isn't that right, Bruce?”

Bruce nodded, chewing earnestly.

Lothur brightened up. “What are you studying these days?”

“...math,” Bruce said around a mouthful of food. He took a long drink from a nearby cup, and briefly fumbled with the empty vessel before setting it down carefully.

Thor shook his head minutely, and shot Bruce a little glare from across the table. 

“He's been studying up on the fundamentals of our system,” Loki explained to Lothur. “The methods of mathematics used on Midgard are much cruder and simplistic; their models don't cover everything. I suppose once he understands more he'll have more to say. Isn't that right, Bruce?”

Bruce shrugged, focused on eating. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Well, if you want to discuss even the foundational--” Lothur brightened, seemingly interested in drawing Bruce into conversation.

“Lord Lothur, if you please. The situation with the armies...?”

“Oh yes, right. Of course, Loki. Now, as we were discussing, it is imperative that our forces be concentrated...”

“I politely disagree, Lord High Chancellor. That is asking for our armies to be ambushed; I think a looser tactical array would discourage our enemies from trying something costly and foolish. Additionally, it seems prudent to continue our standing order, that we allow the generals to follow their best judgment and support them as necessary.”

“Who's leading the armies these days?” Bruce looked over, curious.

Sif nudged Bruce with her elbow. “I'm sure that's an important fact that is between the king and his advisors.”

“Oh, it's no big secret.” Loki smiled. “I'm sure you just don't recall what I told you before, Bruce, being that you've been so very fatigued from the last few days.” He leaned over and stole a kiss, and Bruce looked away, flustered and irritated.

“Hey, fair's fair. If he gets one, I get one too.” Thor tapped his cheek with his index finger. “Come on, brother. Give us a kiss.”

“You two...” Loki shook his head with mock sternness, and then leaned over to Thor, kissing him quite thoroughly before drawing away, making a face. “You taste like smoked fish.”

“You taste like quince jam.”

“Enough!” Lord Lothur smacked the table with the open palm of his hand. 

Suddenly there was silence around the table, and guilty looks all around. Sif elbowed Bruce again, giving him a sharp look, and Bruce shrugged, unabashed.

“I see what it is now that has been keeping you from your duties. Really, Loki. You are fast to acclimate this Midgardian into our ways; I see now that when we finalize his status here, he should have quarters closer to yours so he wouldn't have to walk so far. Or better yet, equidistant between yours and your brother's. Poor mortal; I can see now that being caught between you and your brother...” Lothur shook his head, tutting. “No wonder he's half-dead from fatigue.”

“Yes, well...” Loki blinked, managing to keep his composure.

“I'm glad to see that you and your brother finally have something in common. But please, for the sake of Asgard, try to share nicely; don't worry at him like a single bone between two curs. Let him have some rest. It would be to our detriment if the appetites of the two of you were to chase him away or exhaust him to uselessness.”

At that Bruce covered his hands with his face and shook his head, looking embarrassed. Thor laughed broadly, before patting Loki's back firmly.

“Yes, uncle, we'll try to play nice and behave. Promise.”

“See that you do.” Lothur stood, imperiously. “Loki, I accept your decision about the army. The generals are commendable and can be trusted to continue the campaign as necessary. I shall see the lot of you later when court officially commences.”

*****

“So that's settled.” Once they were all back in Loki's quarters, Loki collapsed on the divan with a sigh. Thor sat down by his side, amusing himself by tossing his hammer and catching it neatly. “What's the news?”

“Last I heard Mother's stewards have found nothing,” Bruce said as he sat down at Loki's other side, flopping back on the cushions. “They're still combing the palace discreetly, but there's no sign of Bruce so far.” 

“All right. Loki, please undo this.” Sif pointed to Bruce and Thor. “It's getting strange and confusing.” Sif knelt down to pet Lopt, who had wandered over at the sound of visitors.

Loki made a motion with both hands, and unwove the illusions. Immediately, in place of Thor and Bruce were Fandral and Thor.

“That went swimmingly,” Fandral grinned, as he set down a plain metal goblet that had stood in for the hammer. “You know, I really ought to have played the part of Bruce; I think I could have done better. Thor's no good at being anyone but himself. Like when he almost threw that cup down for another drink. I saw you going for it, Thor, and realizing in the last minute that you shouldn't do it.”

“It's not their way. Mortals have strange feelings about their drinking vessels.” Thor shook his head, bemused. “Whenever I forget, it's always troublesome.”

“And Thor, your face. When Loki kissed you...” Fandral laughed, doubling over. “I don't think I've ever seen anyone so jealous of their own self--”

“I was not jealous.” Thor growled. “Merely surprised.”

“Come now, Thor, I had to keep up appearances.” Loki teased. “After all, I did kiss you convincingly.”

“You mean Fandral. You kissed Fandral convincingly.”

Loki laughed, but only for a moment. “All right, enough. We must focus on the task at hand. You said Mother's stewards found nothing?”

“So far. I know they're very loyal and reliable. They've been serving her longer than we've been alive.”

“Right. So now what? Ideas?”

“I think we should expand the search to the city,” Thor suggested. “Go house to house if we must.”

“That's going to go well,” Sif said dryly. “Might as well tell the entirety of Asgard that Bruce is missing.”

“Though we just established he's not.” Loki heaved a sigh. “We've bought some time and perhaps given whomever is behind this something to think about, especially in light of our sudden accordance over Bruce.” Loki chuckled a little to himself, catching Thor's eye. “I didn't think our uncle would have come to _that_ particular conclusion. I suppose it was good timing on all our parts. At least I won't have the court breathing down my neck wondering where I've been hiding Bruce.”

“You mean Lord Lothur?” Thor shook his head. “I'm surprised he cares.”

“I am too. He's always been such a staunch supporter of Odin that I never thought he'd accept my decisions, much less my scandalous Midgardian.”

“In all fairness, Lothur has always loved studying the sciences more than most everything else, even Father. Your mortal has a powerful supporter in our uncle.”

“Strange how things work out. All right. What to do.” Loki leaned his head against Thor's shoulder and half-closed his eyes, thinking through the problem. What would Bruce do in this situation? Probably something that had its foundation in mathematics, Loki thought. Like a simplistic puzzle that Bruce had shown him once, about seven bridges and the crossings of a river...

“I wonder how we could smoke them out.” Sif said thoughtfully. “Or draw them out somehow, like with a baited trap.”

“That seems unlikely to work. We'd have to give them the kind of scandal they want for that to happen.”

“Maybe look for where he couldn't be? That would rule out where he is.” Fandral suggested.

“That's a stupid idea, Fandral.” Thor chuckled.

“Oh, sorry, Thor. I was still pretending to be you.”

“Fandral...”

“Actually.” Loki sat up; the thought clear in his mind. “That's not a stupid idea at all.”

Sif picked up Lopt and walked over, sitting in a chair across from the divan. “How is that not a foolish idea?”

“I recall a situation where Bruce was struggling with a theoretical problem. Once he described it, the solution came to him easily. He said that the answer was obvious; he didn't have to worry about where something existed. It was where it couldn't exist that was the problem.”

“I think I understand where you're going with this...” Sif picked up the thread of Loki's thoughts easily. “If Heimdall can't see him, it's because he's being obscured by magic. So instead of an ordinary search, we look for places that have been obscured by magic.”

“Yes, yes. We've been wasting our time with the obvious. The problem is though, how? I can't exactly be walking all over the palace looking for something like that, even in disguise. I must attend court. And no, I'm not disguising one of you as me. That is not an option.”

“Loki, could you build a device that a servant could carry?” Sif gestured with her hands, miming the shape of a small object. “Something hand-held and unobtrusive, that could cancel out the field of magic that's being emitted, if only for a moment.”

“What about a charm or something of the like; I feel like you've made something like that before in the past,” Thor suggested. “Or was that made by dwarves? I forget.” 

“Sif, Thor, you're both right. I think a device could be charged with a spell to cancel out the field. But I can't make a device like that, though if it were a charm...” Loki stood suddenly, springing to his feet. “Wait here, I have just the thing.” Loki stepped out of the room and came back a few moments later with a colorful glowing stone, smooth all around, that was just about palm-sized.

“That? Seriously? You've had that rock since we were boys. It was always on the shelf by your bed.” Thor reached out for it and Loki drew back. “That can do magic?”

“No, not exactly. It's more like it can hold a charge and for a while. I've been layering spells on this stone for years as practice; that's why it looks like this.” Loki shrugged. “That, and it also has something to do with the inherent nature of the material...it's quite difficult and rare to find an intact one like this, you see.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“Only one way to find out.” Loki closed both hands over the stone and concentrated for a long moment. “There.” He handed the stone to Sif. “Take that to Mother for me and fill her in on the situation, if you don't mind. And keep me informed. Fandral, if you would escort Lady Sif, I would be most appreciative.”

“Yes, my king.” The two bowed correctly, saluting with a right fist placed over their hearts, and left.

“You trust them.” Thor drew Loki down to sit beside him.

“I do. To an extent.” 

“Why? Why them and not me?”

“You can't ask me that. I'm trusting you now; what more do you want?”

“You didn't tell me who's leading the armies.”

“Notably Hogun and Volstagg. The others are trivial, loyal guards of mine and of Mother's that you wouldn't remember. What else do you want to know about the state of Asgard? Ask me anything you like.”

“You're being difficult, Loki.”

“I'm being the king.” At that, Loki's eyes met Thor's, and he cupped his palm against Thor's jaw, stroking Thor's blond beard with his thumb. “I'm sorry, but I have my duties just as you have yours. You must understand.”

“I...I'm sorry. Force of habit. I forget that it's not my business anymore, not since I gave it all up.”

“I know, and Asgard is the worse for it. I try my best, though it's not always good enough.” Somehow Loki felt that he had heard Bruce say that more than once, and remembering made him smile to himself, wryly.

“Loki...”

“After all, I'm not you, brother. But you never did tell me why you gave it up. I thought you always wanted to be king.” Loki's smile turned brittle; he wondered if he really wanted to know the truth.

“I did. I thought it would be the best thing that could happen to me. I looked forward to that moment all my life.”

“What happened?”

“My coronation was interrupted. I was exiled.”

“But briefly. So? You were recalled, once you proved yourself worthy.”

“Once I proved to the All-Father that I was good enough? Was that even necessary, as his rightful heir? You're not the only one who's suffered from the tyranny of our father.” There was a bitterness to Thor's voice that was shocking.

“Thor?” Loki was genuinely surprised; he had never thought of Thor as anything other than the favored one, the one that was beloved by all, especially by Odin..

“I realized it when he banished me. When he stripped me of my powers and left me near defenseless. In my exile, I learned that I had to be strong on my own account, even if I were powerless. Because all this...” And here Thor gestured, to his armour, to his hammer. “All of these tokens of strength are meaningless if they can be taken away at someone else's whim. So I left.”

“Brother...”

“Loki, you were lucky, luckier than I. Mother armed you; however powerful Father is, he can never strip you of your magic. I think she did that on purpose, so you could have something that was yours that no one could ever take away, something that is inherently a part of you. But...I. I depended and still depend on Father's good graces. I wish I did not feel this way, truly...but some days I'm glad that he's incapacitated and looks to stay that way; it means he can't change his mind. Sometimes at night, I still dream that he'll come and strip me of my birthright. So I'm trying to make myself strong in other ways so that if it were ever to occur, I wouldn't be crippled by the loss of my powers. And well, being far away from home keeps him at a distance; he can't easily find me if I'm not here.”

“Thor. I...I never knew.” Loki sighed. “All this time, I thought...I thought you were the one he loved best.”

“You mean, the one he controlled with the tightest grip, the one who was on the shortest of leads.” Thor laughed, bitterly. “I think you were spared the worst when he decided I should be sole ruler.”

“You had all the benefits.” Loki felt his mouth twisting in a scowl; the jealousy of the past still stirred deep inside.

“And you didn't? They expected so little of you that you could do as you please and get away with any amount of mischief after you were set free. Any slight failing of mine, and Father...” Thor shook his head. “It was a long time ago. Whatever the case, I shouldn't have taken it out on you.”

“You...really thought of it as me being set free?”

“Free from responsibilities and free from Father's tyranny. I was jealous.”

“So was I. But of the responsibilities.” Loki sighed deeply, shaking his head. “I have realized...over time, that I should be sorry. I was so angry at you that I sabotaged your coronation. But...that wasn't completely just because I was jealous.”

“No, maybe you were right. I probably wasn't ready for it. The bravado was to hide the fear.” Thor's mouth twisted. “All the arrogance, the touchy pride...I know that now, and looking back, I'm ashamed of the boy I was. I was trying to hide from Father, from everyone, that I wasn't really ready. So maybe what you did was good in the end, even though it caused a lot of trouble.”

“No. I wanted to hurt you, as you hurt me. I let my jealousy get the better of me. I relished that anger.” Loki's eyes were cold, distant. “I'm ashamed too, of how miserably envious I was of you. I really did want to be your equal.”

“Well, you're not.” Thor put his arms around Loki, giving him a squeeze, as he saw the flash of anger in his brother's eyes. “Wait, wait, before you get mad at me...” He kissed Loki's cheek soundly and met his eyes, his hands cupping Loki's face. “You're not my equal, because in some ways, we'll never be on the same footing. I'll always be stronger, more powerful. But in other ways...you're my better. You'll always be the clever one, the one who should be king.”

“Thor..?”

“I'm serious. The throne suits you well. Responsibility. Asgard is in order, Mother is happy...and here you are, with a lover too, a kind man whose influence, as I have heard, has been beneficial all around. I'm happy for you.”

“And what about you? Are you happy on Midgard, with your mortal love?”

“I am. Midgard is a vast, beautiful world, and I have so many good friends now. I intend to be happy for a long time.”

“She's mortal though. Truly and completely, right?”

“Yes. Already, Jane is different from the girl I met years ago.”

“I'm sorry, brother.” Loki sighed. “It is never easy when one loves a mortal.”

“No, but it's not worth it to mourn ahead of time.” Thor smiled weakly, sadly. “I'll have the rest of my life to mourn, someday. But right now, I love her, and I'll hold onto her as long as I can.”

“That's a good approach to take, brother. Imagine my surprise when I realized that Bruce wasn't aging. It was rather pleasing to me; quite a relief.”

“Ha, you have all the luck.” Thor leaned forward and rested his head against Loki's, their foreheads touching. “It's strange to remember how we used to fight so much. It seems like that happened to two different people somewhere else, in a strange and distant land.”

“Oh brother, we could still fight. At least to keep up appearances. Mother would be shocked if we didn't,” Loki chuckled, turning the embrace into a grapple. 

“Oh no, no. I've learned some new moves on Midgard, that's not going to work. Not that it ever did,” Thor wrestled him to the ground, knocking the divan aside, and the two laughed.

“Sorry I shot you with the great spear Gungnir.”

“Sorry I dragged out out of a plane and threw you at a mountain.”

“Sorry about dumping you out of that...what was it called again? Helicarrier.”

“Oh please, as if it could kill me. You only inconvenienced me for a few minutes.”

“Sorry I stabbed you.”

“Brother, with a throwing dagger? What were you trying to do, give me a rash?”

“You looked terribly surprised.”

“I was surprised because I thought you'd use an actual weapon, not a toy. It barely knicked me; I've suffered worse wounds in bed.”

“Now that sounds like a story; who or what exactly were you bedding that wounded you so deeply?” Loki laughed, and Thor laughed heartily as well.

“I didn't mean it that way. I meant with a woman. You know, fingernails...”

“Oh, can't you tell me what was it? A bilchsteim? Were her scales particularly lovely in the starlight?”

“Loki! No!” Thor caught his brother in a headlock. “You take that back.”

“Were you going to share her with me, your true brother? Tell me, who is this prized beauty, with her great, virile antlers and...Thor!” Loki laughed as they tumbled across the floor, knocking over a small end table. 

“Always with your jokes.” Straddling Loki's hips, Thor leaned down for a lingering kiss.

“You laid it out completely for me. I could not in good conscience walk away from that opening.” Loki ran his fingers through Thor's long hair, loosening it from its fastenings so that it fell in a gentle cascade around Thor's face.

“There are some other openings I'd like to explore, if you know what I mean. I'd like to find some chinks in that armour of yours, set my spear to the task...”

“Brother, you are the absolute worst--”

Thor pulled Loki up, so they were sitting facing one another. “I'm glad we talked.”

“I as well.”

“Maybe some distance was good for us. From the past.”

“From each other.” Loki smiled. “Promise that you'll come and visit me often.”

“I'm here now. Don't miss me until I'm gone.”

Loki's expression changed. “Do you think we'll find Bruce alive?”

“I think our little performance this morning will show those that perpetrated this outrage that they cannot seek to create a break between us; it will not work.”

“That's not what I asked.”

Thor was silent for a moment, thinking it through. “I think you could trust the honor of those who took him not to slaughter him out of hand; after all, he is merely a Midgardian. It would be a slight to their honor to kill an unarmed, untrained man. The beast however; I'm not certain it's killable, and the beast would protect Bruce if all else fails. I think you needn't worry too much for his safety.”

“Right, I had forgotten about that. Midgardians. No more than a goat at the banquet table, if one were to quote Father.”

“You haven't said that in a long time,” Thor looked at Loki thoughtfully. 

“Said what?”

“Called him Father.” Thor shrugged. “I haven't heard you say that since I've been here. And now that I think of it, not since before you--”

“I suppose all this talk of reconciliation has made me forget myself,” Loki said flippantly, artificially so. 

“Tell me, is it as Mother says? That he is trapped in the Odinsleep.”

“She is hopeful he'll wake someday. For myself, I think it more a coma. His life is failing, slowly.” Loki met Thor's eyes. “We were never meant to live as long as he; even Lothur is older than he should have been. By rights they should have died ages ago, at the height of their powers, in battle, as all our forefathers had.”

“But then we would not have been born.”

“No. Had Mother been older maybe, closer to Odin's cohort when they were wed, perhaps things would have been different. But she was too young for childbearing, much too young even to be wed, and so he had to wait and bide his time, even as he passed the age where Asgardians die a glorious death in battle. Had she not been the one to seal the peace, I think their marriage would have been an immense scandal.” Loki shook his head, bemused. “Perhaps greater than most anything I could come up with in my dissolute youth.”

“It's funny to think of Father as being involved in any kind of scandal.”

“And yet he is again, now that he is incapacitated. He's far older than any king before him; most of them died in their five thousands, at the height of their powers, a sacrifice for their people. But Odin...did not make that sacrifice. Had he, he would have died in Jotunheim. Or before, on Vanaheim.”

“Leaving no heir. Or two infant boys at the mercy of a regency.”

“You forget Odin's brothers. However, you're right; it would have broken the direct line of descent. Really, though he was the most powerful being in the realms, Odin had not the strength of Bor or Buri, who moved stars themselves with their powers.” Loki sighed. “Sometimes I think that perhaps with every generation, we are a little weaker for it. Bor and Buri had immense innate powers; we...well, we manage.”

“I do not understand why that would be.” Thor stared at his hand, as though he could feel the firmness, the assurance of the hammer gripped in his palm.

“Perhaps...it's because we're afraid now. Afraid to not be at peace after so long a stretch of time without fear, without the looming threat of bloodshed. Comfortable in our beds and in our cups, complacent like the stall-fed ox. Perhaps there is something that happens with the dilution of the bloodline over time. Or perhaps Bor and Buri had resources that we don't know about. Who knows? It's just strange that we can't look further back, because so many of our forefathers died so young that our memories are short; only from the latter part of Buri's reign onward do we have written records. Whatever we were before the forging of Asgard is a mystery; there are no old men or women to ask.”

“It is not like that on Midgard. They remember back, generations upon generations.”

“Funny thing, to live so long and to remember so little, when mortals have such fleeting lives and long memories. Odin's cohort is the first to ever grow so old and it looks not to be the last. And it is truly strange, unsettling; what tale of the past had ever involved graybeards? What will I do about this, brother? Someday, sooner than later, I will probably have to force my advisors aside; even Lord Lothur is getting a little slow and wandering in his thoughts, he who used to be a tactical genius, who taught us at his knee.”

“Hearing you talk like this makes me not envy your position. I don't think I could think of a solution. But you will, and you have time. And good friends and advisors. Like Sif, Fandral, and Bruce.”

“If I get him back.” Loki's expression was dark, troubled.

“When you do. And I trust it will be soon.” Thor clasped his brother's hand and they pulled each other up onto their feet, a smooth, easy motion from a lifetime of practice. “We ought to get ready; you have to appear in court soon, my king.”

“I never thought I would hear those words from your mouth.”

“Don't make me regret them.” Thor winked at him.

*****

Leaving his guards in the hallway, Loki entered his quarters alone, the doors closing behind him. He looked around; it was empty, even Lopt was not to be seen. Loki set down the great ceremonial spear in its stand reverently. He took off his helmet and setting it on its own stand beside the spear, ran his fingers through his hair. The hours of court today had felt noxiously long; every minute seemed to drag in a way that he hadn't felt since he was a boy. 

In the end, Thor had not attended, neither did Fandral or Sif; he wondered what they had been up to. With a sigh, he thought about calling for the servants to bring him something to drink, perhaps wine, or better yet, that a glass of that strong, luscious spirit that was imported from Vanaheim, smoky and sharp. But then he noticed something, felt something, a prickle of magic that for a moment made him wonder if he should call for his guards.

But no, with so many guards flooding in haphazardly, it would only be a matter of time before it slipped away unseen in the chaos. This was a matter that would be handled better alone. Loki walked around through his rooms carefully, warily; the prickle faded and ebbed, as if it was trying to stay out of his way, as if it could see him but he could not see it. A field, then; there was someone here, hiding. Whatever it was, it was powerful, the field did not react to him as he thought it would, when he tried to nullify it with his own spells, it was not to be dispersed, as if whoever was casting it had concentration beyond what was normal in a being.

“Show yourself,” Loki said to his empty library, and he stalked the strange field around his desk. “Who are you?” And as Loki fumbled with his right hand in a feint, seemingly reaching out and groping for the invisible adversary, he pulled a throwing dagger left-handed, and snapped it at the doorway where he guessed his adversary would be.

“Goodness, Loki!” Fandral appeared suddenly, armful of cubic devices tumbling out of his grip, his sleeve pinned to the doorframe.

“Fandral, what do you think you're doing?” Loki shook his head, and walking over, tugged the dagger out, slipping it back into its sheath. “What kind of prank is this?”

“The exact same kind you play on me all the time,” Fandral smiled, fingering the rent in his sleeve, and then flinched at Loki's glare. “All right, sorry about that moment of levity. I thought you might appreciate it after a long day of being cooped up with the old men, but I see that I'm wrong. These,” and he picked up the cubes, “Are what the queen's steward found in his second round through the palace with your magic stone. You were right about the nullities; they've been finding them all day, here and there. There are another two or three of these devices in your mother's quarters. Mostly they've been turning up in old storage rooms, some armoury rooms, and a subkitchen that hasn't been officially used in a few centuries. This has all this trappings of a conspiracy in the palace.”

“Where is my brother? Lady Sif?”

“With the queen. Once her steward came back with the devices, she decided that it was necessary for someone who could actually sense the spells to go along. She's taken charge of the search, though they're all in disguise. The queen has them disguised as two guards; they're backup in case there's trouble. We expect to find Bruce sometime this evening.”

“Good work, all of you.” Loki gestured for Fandral to sit at the desk with him; they set the cubes on the table.

“Any idea where these came from?” Loki took one of the devices and inspected it, feeling it over before giving it a decisive tap. With the faintest of whirrs it whisked back to life again, and he could sense the field around them was obscuring them from sight. No wonder he couldn't dent the field, not when all three were going at once with mechanical precision.

“At a guess? Entirely made in Asgard. These are metals commonly found in old plateware that was stolen, reworked, cut and shaped. See? You can see some of the original decorative motifs that were not quite completely obscured by the reworking. The crafting is all done by hand. The same hand, I would think.”

“Clever.” Loki pried open one of the devices with a dagger, the machinery was simple, almost insultingly austere. “Cubic, so that all the parts can be produced identically and simply with the littlest waste, and so the field approximately mirrors the shape of its container. That way they can set it tangent to walls to obscure doors, or set it inside a room to obscure its contents. It's infused with two spells, a very simple one that turns the mechanism continuously, and the mechanism itself casts the spell by tracing the runes like a music box, so that it passively keeps the field going indefinitely. With all three going at once, no wonder I couldn't break it. Here, look. A dial to adjust the radius of nullity; it could be shrunk down to just smaller than the size of a man or expanded to the size of a room. Simple. Elegant. I've never seen the like. This is a clever mind we're dealing with.”

“It's a shame you'll probably have to execute whoever's behind this.”

“Truly. Though I suppose if we can manage to keep this scandal under wraps, I may not have to execute them immediately.”

“Wait, before we move on, you said you couldn't break the field once three of them were going?”

“I could sense it, but I couldn't quite break it. Often there are techniques to nullify a field around another magic user...one looks for irregularities to break a field, and with three, the combined field they produce create something like a chorus effect, where the irregularities are smoothed out.”

“Then why didn't they make a bunch more of these?” Fandral peered at the device with distaste. “Why didn't they just make a pile in each room? Or a bigger, stronger one?

“Limited resources, at a guess? Not enough parts to build with? There might be an upper limit on the power and size. And if one person is building them, perhaps they don't have many means. Who knows?” Loki shrugged, turning the opened cube over in his hands, tapping it again so that it shut itself off.

“They probably didn't think anyone with the ability to find them out would bother looking. Or anyone at all, really. All the concealed rooms were in unused parts of the palace.”

“Perhaps not. It'll take more study. I'll have to take one apart in full to know why. Perhaps dismantle all three to see if there are variations or a common thread.” Loki shoved the opened cube aside. “I want whoever behind this captured and questioned. In private.”

“Of course.”

And here, Loki paused thoughtfully. “I'm glad I have friends I can rely on.”

“I'm glad to be a good friend that you can rely on. And as a good friend, I trust you're not doubting my loyalty, Loki. Either to you or to Asgard.” Fandral's eyes met Loki's steadily.

“Certainly not,” Loki said, with a particular levity.

“Because if you recall, we were friends first. And whatever friendship I have with Thor, that came later, and is different.”

“Yes, of course,” Loki replied briskly. “Speaking of my brother, thank you for standing in for him today.”

“Not a problem. But why didn't you just let him be himself? Him knowing Bruce better from meeting him before on Midgard, that seems like such a silly excuse.”

“It was. And it wouldn't have been quite as fun had we played it straight,” Loki's eyes were bright with amusement. “Besides, the look on his face when I kissed you...”

“You mean, when _I_ kissed you. I imagine Thor still takes such liberties as he pleases.” There was almost a primness to Fandral's words.

“Ha, it reminds me of when we were boys.”

“You mean, when you were content to have Thor lead you and you did as he asked.”

“Yes, I suppose you're right, though I'm not sure I would have described myself as 'content'. Certainly you were complicit in following where he led as well.”

“Yes, because generally I had no choice. I have not the rank of princes. Thankfully things are different now.” Fandral paused, looking expectantly to Loki. “Aren't they?”

“I should expect that they are. It's been some time since we were boys together. Now you only have to worry about me having my way.”

“Well, I've always thought you were more reasonable, if that's to be believed. But admittedly...it was hard being the bone caught between two curs.” Fandral smiled faintly, with a one-shouldered shrug.

Surprised, Loki was about to speak, but then the doors to his quarters opened.

“I wonder who that is.” 

“I'll find out.” Fandral stood up and stepped out of the library. A moment later he returned with Thor at his side.

“Brother. What's the news?” Loki got up expectantly, feeling his heart racing. “Where are Mother and Sif?”

“Mother couldn't be away for long without being noticed, so she's back in her quarters. Lady Sif is running errands for her.” There was a solemnity to Thor's face, a seriousness and a sense of disappointment that told Loki everything before Thor could even say it.

“You didn't find him.”

“We were too late. We found a place where he was probably being kept, but he's already been moved. There are no leads as to where he might be.”

“Damn. Damn, damn, damn.” Furious, Loki shoved the magical devices off the top of his desk. The opened one went flying across the room and shattered against Bruce's blackboard, which wobbled slightly at the force of the impact.

“I want all the servants questioned, any servant whose loyalties are suspect. I want the guards sent round to--” But then something caught Loki's eye and he made his way out from behind the desk, curious. “No, hold that order. I rescind it entirely.” He knelt, and sifting through the broken bits of the mechanism, picked up a tiny chip of something.

“Loki?”

“Well.” Loki brought the tiny chip up to the light, scrutinizing it carefully. “So it seems the brute force method works again. I think I know where he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mythological reference to Thor in disguise here. Bruce's story is the famous Seven Bridges of Königsberg problem, which has no solution.
> 
> The method Loki is using to find Bruce is analogous to finding the domain of a function. The stone Loki uses to cast his spell on was mentioned in chapter 1 (it's stored in Loki's childhood bedroom).


	11. Chapter 11

Consciousness came slowly and at a cost; it felt as though he was ascending out of deep, still water. When Bruce finally managed to open his eyes, he found that the room he was in was cold, austere and bare, and he was alone. He wondered where his captors were; even the servant who was sent to see to his needs was gone.

He got up out of the makeshift bed carefully, straightening with a groan, and he looked for the sliver of window that he remembered seeing. But he didn't find it; perhaps he had been moved, or perhaps it had never been there at all. Instead, the room was windowless, dark and almost without texture. There was a little light however, just enough to give the room some contour, though from what source he could not ascertain.

He felt along the walls; there had to be a door. Starting at his left, he began a circuit around the room, but the wall felt long, unusually so, and he was starting to worry a little; perhaps the opening was obscured by means unknown and he wouldn't be able to find an exit.

But just as he made his way along the wall, slightly gritty under his fingers as though it were made of rough, unfinished concrete, he heard a door click open. Turning, Bruce saw the open door behind him and a familiar figure stood silhouetted in the bright doorway.

“...Loki?”

“It's me.” And before Bruce knew it, before his mind could register the motion, he found himself in Loki's arms, the familiar press of armour against his body, the edges cutting against his shoulders and his arms. He gripped Loki tightly; it didn't matter to him how hard the edges of his armour were, even if they hurt him a little.

“Oh thank goodness...”

“I've been looking for you, Bruce.” Loki's fingers stroked through his hair, snagging minutely on the curls. “I was so worried... Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah...” Bruce sank into the embrace, as a swimmer might collapse onto a stretch of gritty beach, glad to be alive after being caught in a rip current. “Yeah...I'm okay. I'm just glad you're here.” He half-closed his eyes, grateful for the familiar sanctuary of Loki's arms, but then, he realized something was wrong.

“No. Wait.” Bruce tensed, flinching. “I know Loki. You're not him.” He stepped to get away, but strong arms caught him around his waist before he could go far and easily pinioned him.

“Aren't I?” Bruce could feel the smile in those words even if he couldn't quite see it, silhouetted in darkness, sharp and cruel.

“I know Loki. I know all his little tricks. He spent an entire academic year once pretending to be my TA. You can't fool me; you're not him.” Bruce struggled, trying to twist out of the stranger's grip, trying to get away without resorting to blows. “Who are you, really?”

“Oh, but I am Loki.” And tenderly, Loki leaned down for a kiss, though Bruce could feel the teeth behind it. “The Loki you were rightfully afraid of; the Loki that you never really knew.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh Bruce, you can be so agreeable when you're overwhelmed, letting me do whatever I like. You bend so easily to my will...” Loki pivoted them, as simply as dancing, and Bruce found himself shoved up against the wall, the unyielding press of stone against his back. Fear tainted with the sharp edge of arousal jittered through him. His heart was pounding, his breaths were coming fast, and for a moment he thought the other guy was already here, but no, he was alone, still under the influence of whatever drug he had been dosed with, alone in his own self, without the insurance the other guy afforded.

“That's not true. I let you because I like you. Look, everyone who gets to a certain age has baggage. Even me, and technically you're older than me, and from a different culture where there is a cultural preference for warriors and killers, so things will be different--”

“So many clever arguments. Do they help you sleep at night? You let me do as I've pleased all this time. Despite me keeping the truth from you.” Loki leaned down, his breath icy against Bruce's throat. “That I am a murderer, so many times over, even of my own parent. Oh wait, but you knew most of that even before I said anything. You were there, weren't you? In New York...”

“Yes! Yes...but I didn't know you. You were like a storm passing through. A stranger, an alien, a force of nature...”

“A storm that would eventually bring me to you. Do you think that was mere coincidence?” Loki ran his hand along Bruce's jaw, caressingly, that intimate gesture he had only seen between Asgardian lovers, a caress that Bruce had felt so many times now. “Remember?”

And all of a sudden, they were in his house in the desert. Loki let him go with a suddenness that jarred Bruce; so much so that his muscles didn't even react until his brain caught up and he scrabbled away. The afternoon light was dark, tainted with storm clouds, and Bruce ran over to look out the window.

There, just beyond the delineation of his yard, the winds picked up. Dust and sand twirled up into the sky in great gouts like massive dust devils. The cloud-poisoned sky shattered and suddenly he could see it, the wormhole (and here, Bruce briefly wondered, was it Lorentzian traversable?) a cold, black window into another part of the galaxy where pinpricks of stars burnt bright in the darkness of deep space.

And that's when they came again, the horde passing through the tear in space like a buzzing swarm of insects but so much deadlier, and Bruce did not know what to do. There was a time he was one element of a team and their combined efforts drove the invaders away, but this time he was alone. He had thrown that away years ago; he had lost those fragile friendships he had tentatively formed...

“Loki! Stop them!”

“It's out of my hands,” Loki gestured eloquently as the sky grew black with the monsters that poured forth.

“Then I'll do it.” Bravado, maybe, or foolishness; Bruce wasn't afraid of dying. With or without the other guy, he would manage somehow. Bruce had to do something; he couldn't sit back and watch his world be destroyed. He had to trust in himself; if the other self wouldn't come through, he would have to do, even if he wasn't really good enough. So he went to his butcher block and grabbed the longest, sharpest carving knife...

...only to have Loki pluck it out of his hands.

“No, I don't think you need to get involved. It's out of your hands. You said it yourself; you weren't interested in this saving the world business.” With a gesture, the knife disappeared from Loki's hand.

“I changed my mind. Someone's gotta do something.” Bruce turned to the door. “I'll fight them with the garden rake if I have to.”

“Oh dear, dear Bruce.” With unusual quickness, Loki caught him by the wrist before he could go further, pulling him down the hallway and for a moment, Bruce was unresisting. Bruce had a sudden, jarring memory of the past, intermingled with the present; Thor's hand on Loki's wrist in the same darkened hallway...

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Shh. It's all right. I won't hurt you. I promise I'll be gentle.” Loki pushed him into his own bedroom; there, the narrow bed, the hangings hung askew, the bedding tossed to the ground, and he had wondered...

“Loki, please. I don't know what you want.”

“You of course. I want you. All of you.” The buttons on his shirt popped off as Loki easily tore the shirt open with hands, wrestling him out of it and tossing it aside; was that the purple shirt? He caught a bare glimpse of it as it went flying across the room. But wasn't that shirt destroyed years ago, utterly torn to tatters when...

“You don't want that. Not the other guy.”

“Oh, but I do. You see, I have something better than a cage for him. For you, that is. After all, you and he are one and the same.” And with a flourish, the sceptre appeared in Loki's hand, that strange spear-like object whose radiation was something that Bruce had never seen before; no amount of Fourier analyses could even vaguely model the kind of higher dimensionality it represented; it was something beyond the world of sines and cosines; it was something altogether alien, and here it was again, gripped lightly in Loki's right hand.

“No, wait. Don't. You don't have to do this. I told before you already...that I like you. I do. I really...” It was a strange admission, and it gave him the oddest feeling, a feeling that shivered him down through his feet.

“Did you, now? But do you love me? How could I possibly know it for certain? Because I won't need to build a cage if only I have this.” Loki pressed the wickedly curved tip of the spear against his manubrium and slowly slid it down over the body of the sternum, through the thicker patch of dark, curling hair there and Bruce could feel it, the power of the scepter harmonically resonating with the pulse of his beating heart, a strange superposition of animal sensation and a science that was so far advanced that it was essentially magic.

“Please Loki. Don't. You don't have to do this.” And Bruce realized that what Loki held was better than any cage; it would be a trap he would walk into willingly, a trap that he could not easily extricate himself from. A trap of his choosing. What did Thor say? Leave now, before he could be used in Loki's schemes? Was it already too late?

“But how else will I trick you into loving me? How else will I know that you are truly mine and mine to use? Now, Bruce...” Loki tapped the tip of the sceptre against Bruce's chest thoughtfully. “So sorry. You might feel a sting...”

Blue. It was blue, the blinding light that glowed from the end of the sceptre and--

 

Bruce hadn't moved. But somehow he had thrashed out of his dream, his breathing all a mess, and he took a moment to get his breath under control. Someone was talking; people were talking, and when he accidentally blinked his eyes open, unsure of what was real; they noticed him and stopped. A moment later, the servant walked over with the jug of water and a drinking cup, and the other, the Einherjar soldier in his ochre cloak, the same color as the dust of Asgard, left.

But that didn't mean that he hadn't heard what they said; there was always a trick he could do under any circumstance, even stressful ones, which was to replay the last few minutes or so of what he had heard, even if he hadn't understood it the first time. In retrospect, it was because of his father; Bruce knew at a young age that not paying attention was the worst possible sin he could commit and had learned how to use his memory to protect himself from even a slight slip of attention.

He concentrated and let the words seep back to him from his memory, briefly blotting out the memory of the dream.

_“Two days now, and not a peep from the throne.”_

_“The first didn't count. The traitor didn't know we had the Midgardian.”_

_“Yes, that's right. But now, nothing from him, and I heard the Midgardian was seen this morning.”_

_“Useless chatter. But you must have heard that the queen's steward has been asking questions. Her servants are searching the palace. Somehow they've found one of our rooms. They're looking for him. We have to move him and quickly.”_

_“So the plan has failed. The prince has shown no signs of wanting to take back the crown that is rightfully his, and now it's obvious that he's supporting his usurper brother. We don't need the Midgardian anymore. We should kill him and dump the body off-world. Just because we failed doesn't mean we can't hurt Loki.”_

If there was more to it, he couldn't recall; Bruce knew this was more than enough to get by, to hopefully pass the next few crucial minutes alive.

Bruce found himself being helped up to a sitting position; was it the servant who had said those last words or was it the guard? 

“No, no. I'm okay.” He brushed the servant off. “I'm not thirsty,” he lied, though just the visceral sound of water being poured made every ounce of his being want a drink of water. But he didn't know if it was poisoned or dosed, not after what he overheard, and could not chance it. It took approximately three days to die of dehydration; he was sure he could manage an escape before that, and to manage that escape, he had to be awake and as clear-headed as possible.

“Are you sure? I can leave it here for you if you like.”

“Yeah, thanks. I'd appreciate that.” Bruce managed a nervous smile, unsure now of who to trust.

“How are you feeling?” The servant smiled gently and now that Bruce was more awake, less drugged and less in a state of physical distress, he could see it; there underneath that mask of polite meekness was the sharp glint of intelligence in the servant's eyes. The ruse was simple to the point of elegance; Bruce had become accustomed to the quiet semi-anonymous staff that served in the palace, so much so that he hadn't even properly paid attention to who had been right by his side.

Briefly, and as unobtrusively as possible, Bruce tried to memorize the face; the length and shape of the nose, the color of the hair and eyes, to let his mind retain an image of the servant's face in case he would have to identify the man later. He wondered where the guard was.

“Tired. I think I'm going to try to go back to sleep.” Bruce yawned, hoping that it was a convincing yawn, and laid back down on the pallet. 

“Good idea.” The servant smiled faintly, and before Bruce could say more, the servant reached down and placed the tip of three fingers against his forehead.

“Sleep well.” The voice was gentle, and it was the last thing Bruce remembered before falling into deep unconsciousness.

The servant straightened up; it was good work done and despite the complexity of the spell, he had managed it on the first try. He picked Bruce up easily, wrapped in the woolen blanket that he had been covered with, careful of Bruce's fragile Midgardian limbs, which the servant neatly arranged so that they would not hamper his walking. Casting the spell of invisibility around them, the two disappeared from view.

*****

It took a moment for Bruce to realize he was not dead. That was the first surprise. 

“Where...where are we?” Bruce mumbled, swiping at someone's fingers pressed lightly against his forehead. Around them the wind blew icy and unrelenting, and a fine cloud of sand swirled around his ankles.

The servant let him go, and when Bruce stumbled, the servant steadied him, catching his arm roughly. 

Memory came back to Bruce quickly as he regained full consciousness and clarity. “Are you...are you going to kill me?”

“No. But Svartalfheim will.” The servant looked around, an air of dissatisfaction in his fine-featured face, and as the wind kicked up, strands of his pale hair made a golden cloud about his head. “She is unforgiving.”

“Why? I mean, for both things. What are we doing here? Where is here? Who are you? What's with the kidnapping?” Still dazed from the after-effects of the spell, Bruce's questions came out in an awkward spill of half-formed thoughts.

“My brother.” The servant looked into the distant horizon, as if that would answer everything. Bruce looked into the direction of the servant's gaze; some miles away was a long deep canyon, black with shadows

“What about him? Was he that guard you were talking to?”

The servant didn't answer, but it was clear that it was the right answer, the way his eyes snapped over to Bruce as if he didn't think that Bruce could have remembered.

“Yes.” The servant paused, deliberate, as if unsure of how much he wanted to tell Bruce, and then he shrugged to himself, as if there could be no further harm done. “You hurt his pride. A Midgardian. As a soldier, he had a right to die for his king. But I'm glad you saved his life. Which is why I took this job, and why I talked the others into letting me leave you here. They wanted to kill you out of hand, so there would be no witnesses. But this is the least I could do for you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because neither of us will be able to tell the truth after today.” The servant bowed neatly, a long-practiced motion. “Thank you for saving my brother. This is all I can do for you.” There was no hint of apology in those last words; they were as false as the mask of meekness.

“Today...” Bruce felt numbed, unbelieving; he could not accept that this was happening.

“The winds of Svartalfheim are drying; no moisture has fallen from these barren clouds since Bor's great battle in ages past. The atmosphere will wring the water from your body faster than you can imagine. No one comes here for more than a day and you are not even Aesir. You should have taken that last drink. It wasn't poisoned or even dosed. It was just water. Perhaps it would have bought you a few more hours.” The servant smiled cruelly as he began to walk away, and following the servant with his eyes, Bruce could see that just over the ridge of pebbly sand was a waiting skiff, and he caught the barest glimpse of the golden device of an Einherjar guard's helmet, glinting dully in the low obscured light.

“Wait...” But before Bruce could get his limbs to work properly, the servant mounted the skiff, putting his arm around his brother's waist. It took off in a burst of speed, and disappeared into the distance.

There were no farewells said, not for him. Bruce closed his mouth resolutely; he would lose water vapor with every breath. He sat down near the crest of the pebbly dune, thinking he had to minimize water loss if he wanted to live. The cold wind made him clutch the rumpled wool blanket closer around his shoulders (how did he come about having this? Bruce could not remember). He picked up a tiny chip of stone that caught his eye. Did it have the barest flicker of luminescence? It seemed kind of heavy for a pebble. He tossed it aside, deciding he had no time to care about geology when he might die.

There were arguments against that possibility; Loki was probably already tearing up half of Asgard looking for him. He'd put his faith in his new friends; Sif was no fool and Fandral wasn't either. Somehow he'd be found. Maybe. Probably.

He sighed and immediately regretted it, a jolt of fear going through him; how much water had he lost with that thoughtless exhale? But then he laughed to himself silently just a little bit; he was losing water with every breath, an epsilon amount, infinitesimal. And, using the Archimedean property, even a tiny number multiplied against a sufficiently large number meant a large amount of water loss by the end. Stupid math jokes, he thought, and instead thought about his breathing, calming himself, his fingers sunk into the loose, pebbly soil.

If he was going to die here, it wasn't a bad place to go. Svartalfheim. There was a dark beauty to this desolate place, with its distant black towers jagged against the horizon, and as he looked up at the low-hanging clouds, storm-like in their darkness, and the low hanging sun with its dim, unfeeling light, suddenly memory came back to him and Bruce felt himself huddled over with a fear so sharp that he clutched himself as if his whole body were in pain. 

His house in the desert. The Chitauri. He hadn't thought about them in years, hadn't even dreamed about them, but the memory of them coming through from the darkness, through the portal in the sky could never quite leave him. And there too in his dream was Loki, the Loki he had forgotten about over the years, the cold, haughty stranger at his table, green eyes glinting malice as he watched Bruce from across the room with a predator's unfeeling gaze. 

Bruce's hands sunk deeper into the soil, the physical pain of sharp stones a pleasing distraction. The cage and the sceptre, his subconscious, dreaming mind had said. He had been running from the cage for years. That was probably why he had left her. Definitely why he left Stark. Left everyone that he knew or cared for in the slightest. Here was the cage again, this time gilt and comfortable despite its formality, the door opened by Loki's hand, and he had shied from it as he always had. He never wanted to be fettered, and now here he was, verging on middle age, whatever that meant now that he wasn't aging, and he was free, but what at what price?

The freedom he had chosen was a cage in and of itself, but instead of protecting others from him, it locked him away in isolation. He had done that himself; there was no one else to pin the blame on. This had been his own choice. Slowly, Bruce laid back down against the slope of the sand dune, eyes blurred with tears that he dared not shed for fear of losing water.

 

And that was where Loki found him, an hour later, sitting on the crest of the dune looking over the blasted wasteland of Svartalfheim.

“Bruce!” Loki didn't wait for the skiff to come to a complete stop; he jumped off, skidding to a halt in the loose pebbles and ran the last few feet to Bruce.

“Bruce...” Loki gently drew Bruce into his arms, and Bruce sighed, before tentatively putting his arms around Loki's shoulders before clutching him tight. “Thank goodness you're all right. I was afraid...” 

Bruce tried to speak, and then he tried to clear his throat, his voice a tiny rasp. “Water.”

Quickly, Sif tossed Loki the flask of water; he caught it one-handed and offered it to Bruce. 

Bruce took the flask. He drank it down in one long gout, and passed the emptied vessel back to Loki. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“Are you all right?”

“Just thinking about what to do here for the rest of my life. Thought that'd be a nice place for a house over there, at the foot of the mountain. Maybe put up a garden. You think tomatoes would grow here? Squash? Some cactus, maybe, just like New Mexico...”

“Bruce?” Loki blinked. “Yes, I suppose, if you like. If that's what you truly want, I could see what we could do about...”

“No. I'm just kidding.” Bruce stood up shakily, slipping out of Loki's grip, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. “Let's get out of here. I want some tea. And dinner. Or lunch. Breakfast. Whatever. I have no idea what time it is anymore. I'm just hungry. And thirsty. And I need a shower...”

“Yes, yes. Of course. Whatever you want.”

“No wait. There's something I need to see first.” Bruce let Thor and Sif help him into the skiff, and they set off in the direction that Bruce had last seen the servant and his brother go. Silently, Bruce pointed them toward a canyon, vast and dark, and they entered its deep shadow.

There, not so far from the mouth of the canyon, was a little wisp of smoke. They headed toward it, the skiff moving slowly.

“What is it that we're looking for?” Thor asked, and Bruce just shook his head.

“You'll know when we find it.”

As they drew closer to the source of the smoke, it became obviously apparent what they were looking for. There, the shattered remains of a skiff, crushed against the canyon wall as carelessly as a discarded toy. And just beyond it, the servant and the guard, side by side, their limp bodies laid out as if in state.

“That crash couldn't have possibly killed them.” Sif was the first out, and she drew her sword as if expecting an ambush. She edged her way closer, and then lowered her sword when she realized what had happened. Shaking her head, her expression grim, Sif sheathed her blade.

“I suppose they've saved me the trouble of having them executed,” Loki said dryly, as he walked over to see for himself what Sif had first spotted.

In the deep shadow of the canyon, they had not seen the darker spill of blood that stained the stone around the bodies. A faint glint of light caught the edge of a long blade, still gripped tightly in the guard's right hand.

The wind caught Bruce's hair, tangling his curls as he knelt beside the servant's body, in a little patch of bare ground that was free from the pool of mingled blood, the edges drying even as they looked on.

There, that fine-featured face, the blond, wind-mussed hair, and it was uncontaminated from even the slightest splash of blood, so that the servant seemed merely sleeping, instead of a cold, lifeless corpse whose blood was even now congealing into the cracks of the stone canyon.

“This was the one I saw. The one who I thought was just a servant. He loved his brother. He did it for him.” Bruce pointed to the guard, and then felt faint, queasy. As he straightened up, he wobbled so much that all three of the Asgardians standing around him reached out at once to steady him though ultimately it was Sif who caught him, keeping him upright. “I don't...I don't even know his name. I never heard it. He never said—I never asked. I should have asked....”

“Whatever wrong they've done, they've taken responsibility,” Sif said, giving Bruce's shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze. Bruce began to shiver, and it was as if the cold wind had replaced whatever heat was leftover in the core of his body with ice.

“There were others. He said there were others involved, not just them...”

“So these two were sacrificed.” Loki straightened up, dusting himself off. “Pawns, both of them. Whoever was behind this has merely tied a loose strand, by destroying the only visible face of the conspiracy. It's so very clever, suborning servants and guards. It makes it so that we cannot trust anyone around us. It turns the most common of household gossip among the working folk of the palace into strategic information.”

“Loki...” Thor gave him a meaningful look, and his eyes darted toward Bruce.

“I—“ Loki paused, mid-thought. “Well, I suppose. That this is a matter for another time. Thor, if you please, I would like it if you could go ahead of us and bring Fandral back here to help search for clues. I want identities and any possible connections to compatriots or allies. This is all to be kept under royal seal.”

“Of course, brother. You know you can count on me.” At that, Thor lifted his hammer and with a great gust of wind was off.

“Bruce, come away from that, please.” Loki put his arm around Bruce, guiding him away from the bodies. “Let's go home.”

Bruce couldn't help but look back, one last time. The edge of the ochre cloak fluttered sharply in the stiff breeze, and he shuddered.

Numbly, Bruce let Loki and Sif help him back into the skiff. It was along time before he stopped shivering.

*****

After a long hot bath, he took his dinner with Sif, who had stayed with him for the most part once they had returned from Svartalfheim, ostensibly to keep guard over him. Lopt too kept an eye on him. The little orange cat followed him him around the rooms meowing inconsolably until he stopped to spend a few minutes petting her. Gradually, Lopt was appeased, but she stayed by his side, purring, curled up against him as if otherwise he might disappear.

As they finished up their dinner, Loki returned; he dismissed Sif graciously and pulled up a chair beside Bruce.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.” Bruce managed a weak smile.

“I'm sorry, but there's a bit more business first and there's no use avoiding it.” Loki took Bruce's hand between his. “Sometime soon I will have to interview you officially about what happened. Probably with a witness, someone such as Lord Lothur, though the proceedings will be kept secret, under the king's seal.” 

“Huh. It's turning out to be a real problem, isn't it? Only...I'm still wondering how you figured out where to look for me. I mean, Svartalfheim wouldn't have been my first guess.”

Loki paused for a moment, considering Bruce's words, before deciding to answer only one of Bruce's comments.

“Here.” With a flourish, Loki brought out one of the cubes and set it down on the table between them. “Have a look at this.” He opened the mechanism to show Bruce the workings.

“Neat. What tune does it play? Greensleeves? Edelweiss?” Bruce slipped on his glasses and looked carefully at the mechanism; to his eye the internal parts looked somewhat like a cross between the inner workings of a watch and a music box.

“None. It's a simple device that generates a field to obscure things from view. Thus, the difficulty in finding you.”

“I wish I could say that I figured out some of the mystery on my side, but I don't remember much from the last...day? Days? It must have been at least a day. I have no idea how long it was.”

“It was about two days.”

“Oh. So over the course of those two days, I was conscious for a combined two hours, tops, before they dumped me on Svartalfheim.” Bruce shook his head. “Not much time for solving mysteries and planning escapes. Anyway, what about the box?”

“Do you see? The chip of material in here.” Loki tilted the box and Bruce leaned in to look; there, almost hidden in the depths of the gears was a flat bit of stone roughly one centimeter in diameter, faintly luminescent in the shadow of the box.

“What's that? I feel like I've seen something like that before.”

“It's a material that's only found on Svartalfheim. Shattered bits of it can be found almost everywhere the ships crashed, though they must have spent some time looking for pieces this big.” Loki closed the box back up and returned it to wherever it was stored, making it disappear. “I've only ever seen one of those stones fully intact; it's a part from the engine matrix of their ships. The dark elves, that is. The stories say that they used an odd prime number of them in the workings of their ships, though it's not known exactly how many, though the numbers seem to vary with the ships. The material's function is that it can hold a spell; immensely complex spells were cast on them in ancient times. Whatever their specific functions in the ship's workings has been lost. No one even knows what they're called.”

“How long do the spells last?”

“That's a good question. I suppose it depends on how much usage received. Even when the ships were functioning, the spells had to be periodically recast, or so we're told. After the long passage of time, they're naturally purged of their original intent. But perhaps centuries, at a conservative estimate.”

“How did...wait, how did they get to Svartalfheim? Um, the conspirators. Through the Bifrost? Does that mean the guardian, er...Heimdall is involved?”

“No. They used other means to access Svartalfheim. There are hidden paths between the realms. I suppose they must have found out somehow. Luck, skill, cleverness.” Loki shrugged. “I suppose we'll never know for certain.”

“Those two. The brothers. Who were they?” Bruce winced; he could see them still in his mind's eye, the two brothers, eyes closed as if sleeping, on their bed of stone and blood...

“It's too early to say. But Fandral and Thor are investigating; perhaps we'll know by morning.” Loki drew Bruce close. “I'm sorry. I didn't want to upset you with all this again.”

“No. It's okay. I mean, it's not really okay, but I get it.”

“The reason we couldn't find you sooner was that you were also being hidden, not invisible to the eye, mind you, but invisible to scrying. There are ways...” Loki stroked Bruce's shoulder lightly. “My guess is that once they had to move you, someone set a spell on a bit of material and it was sewn into those clothes you were wearing, somewhere unobtrusive. Somehow it must have fallen out, and once it did, I was suddenly able to find you.”

“I think...I saw it. I thought it was just a rock.”

“They were terribly clever. But they miscalculated and paid for it with their lives. And almost...with yours.” Loki cupped Bruce's jaw.

“I'm fine.” Bruce shrugged Loki off. “Makes me feel like a popular kind of guy, where everyone here and back home wants a piece of me. Which is funny cuz I was never the popular type until now.”

“I'm sorry, Bruce. I shouldn't have...I think this was my fault. You were unprotected where you were...”

“I'm always protected.” Bruce met Loki's eye shrewdly. “After all...I've got the other guy. Only briefly not this time because of something they put in my food or drink, but I think if something went really wrong, he would have eventually come out.”

“Maybe. But. I didn't mean to put my brother before you.”

“You didn't. I understand you needed some time with him; it's fine. I get it. Don't feel guilty about me being left alone. It's not your fault that opportunists, predators even...” Bruce took off his glasses and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Look. I'm sorry Loki, but I can't really deal with this talk right now. I just...want to lie down or something, okay? I'm not mad at you. I just...I just need some time to sort out this mess in my head. A lot's happened in the last few days. I had the shit kicked out of me, spells cast on me. I was left to die on some desert planet...I don't know how to think about any of this yet.” And then Bruce winced, remembering that the two of them had fought before all this trouble and had never settled the argument, but he shook his head, choosing not to mention it. “So...so we can't have this conversation right now, all right?”

Loki drew a sharp breath, eyes narrowing at the revelations. He took a long moment to comport himself, to try to control flash of anger that sprang up hearing that Bruce had been hurt. “I...I'm sorry, Bruce. I understand. Perhaps later. You're all right now though, right?”

“Yeah. I'm not in pain or anything. I got healed up just fine. I just...” Bruce shrugged, unable to explain what was going on in his thoughts. “Not right now.”

“Yes, of course. Shall we?” Loki offered Bruce his hand, pulling Bruce close into a tight embrace as they stood.

“Sure.” And here, Bruce let Loki lead him to bed.

 

When Bruce met Loki's eyes as they walked into the bedchamber, it was clear what Loki wanted. This was the second time they had made love, and this time it was more for Loki's sake. Loki needed the reassurance, the certainty that Bruce was in his arms, and it didn't cost Bruce much to give him what he needed. It lacked the playfulness and exploration of the first time, the little negotiations and questions and compromises; there was an edge to it that Bruce found troubling, but still it pleased him to have the heat of Loki's body against his, unencumbered by the ever-present weight of armour and the heavy layers of clothing. This was a side of Loki too, vulnerable, pleasing and wanting to please.

Afterward, drowsy and relaxed, Bruce could just about feel himself let go of his troubles, if only briefly. Limbs tangled with Loki's, he could hear Loki's soft breaths, even and calm.

He stroked his fingers through Loki's hair, and somehow managed to fall asleep.

 

He had no idea what time it was when he woke up, but it was still dark, and he was wide awake. Perhaps an hour, perhaps three hours? Bruce couldn't tell. All he knew was that he could no longer stay still in the bed; there was an anxiety that gnawed at his bones and he had to move.

He tried to remember what he had dreamt about; it was impossible to recall, merely an unsettled feeling of disturbance that made him gently untangle himself from Loki and slip out of bed, fumbling into his clothes and socks in the darkness.

Lopt followed him out, padding on silent feet, and when he gestured for her, she clambered up his clothing, claws sinking painlessly into the thick material, before settling on his shoulder.

“You should have stayed with Loki. Kept him warm,” Bruce murmured to Lopt, feeling guilty for leaving Loki alone.

Soft lighting grew around him as he wandered through the darkened rooms; the lights were golden and soothing, unlike the cold gray light of his dreams, but even then it could not quite shake off the dream-like unease.

On a whim, he walked into the library and took a book off the shelf at random. He opened it, read the first few lines, looked away, and re-read. Nothing changed; so he was truly awake and this was no dream.

Bruce sighed; he was not prone to insomnia. Generally he slept very well and regularly, but now...it was probably the drugs, he thought to himself; being unconscious for so long had probably thrown off his circadian rhythm. Besides that, traces of the drugs could still be in his system; it might take a few days or weeks to fully metabolize out.

And even stranger, Bruce worried, he was not generally prone to the odd flights of fancy that had him trying to prove his state of consciousness. But the dreams he had before; they seemed so terribly real and...

Exercise, he decided. He would do a little exercise and try to meditate; those were things that were good against insomnia, or so he remembered reading somewhere. And such wholesome activities had to be good against weird bouts of magical thinking. Or perhaps he would just lie down and close his eyes; technically that too was rest, even if it was not sleep. 

In the meantime he sat down in the library and looked absently at the book he had selected. He hadn't read this one yet; it was worn about the edges and some of the corners were frayed, as if heavily reread by someone who took care of their books very nicely.

He read the first line again, but it made no sense to him, and briefly, he wondered if he was really awake.

Bruce shivered a little; it was as though the coolness of the room caught up to him. He dug out a blanket from where he had last left it, folded on the bottom corner of the bookshelf. Wrapping it around his shoulders, he slowly warmed up.

Longingly, he thought of bed, but then realized that as much as he wanted to return to the comfort of Loki's side, he could not. At least not until he had some time to settle his nerves. Besides, Bruce reasoned, he did not want to wake Loki even by accident. After all, Loki had some serious problems on his hands now that a conspiracy against the throne was found; Bruce couldn't in good conscience burden Loki with petty personal problems that he could sort out on his own. It would be better to let Loki sleep untroubled; as king, Loki needed every ounce of rest he could muster.

Realizing he could not focus enough to read, Bruce set the book down and paced around the room, Lopt swaying with his steps from her perch on his shoulder.

 

In the morning when Loki woke, sleepily he reached for Bruce and instead his fingers found a sleeping Lopt. Slowly, Loki realized that Bruce was not by his side; at the full realization he snapped awake with a jolt of anxiety.

With a gesture he was fully dressed; he looked around the room; it was empty. He got up and wandered through his suite of rooms; there were signs that Bruce had been around, like a discarded book lying open on his desk beside a half-empty cup of water, a rumpled and half-folded blanket tossed on a cozy sitting chair.

He paused and thought it through. With a nod to himself, he realized where Bruce must be. Loki entered his old room, the room of his childhood where he had brought Bruce the first night.

Bruce was there, shoulders tense and hunched up against the chill of night, asleep sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. Loki breathed a sigh of relief, and carefully picked Bruce up; oddly, Bruce didn't wake as he normally would, sleeping deeply despite being a light sleeper.

There was something of a haunted look to Bruce's sleeping face, and Loki put Bruce to bed, tucking him in. Bruce moaned softly, breaths coming fast, his eyes screwed tight as flinching from a blow.

Loki sat on the bed beside Bruce, stroking his back until that tension went away and Bruce's breathing evened out. As he did so, Loki had a sudden, intense memory from his childhood, remembering his mother doing the same for him when he was very young. Was it a childhood illness? A fever? He couldn't distinctly remember. Loki sighed; some days it seemed as if he could never have been that child, so long ago.

Loki leaned down to kiss Bruce lightly, wanting to stay but unable to; there were duties he could not shirk, responsibilities he could not set aside. He gave Bruce a long, considering look before leaving for court, the door shutting silently behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The guard and the servant are in some ways, another possibility for Thor and Loki; loyalty and love to the death. 
> 
> Thor's fear of losing his powers is mirrored in Bruce's fear of being without the other guy, though Bruce like Thor is brave even without his powers.
> 
> Nami always wanted that fic where Loki is Bruce's TA. Bruce mentions it in this chapter, but it's going to happen, as soon as I finish this story and tie up some loose ends.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references to miscarriage.

Surprised, Bruce quickly stood up as Lord Lothur escorted the Queen into Loki's receiving room. He had been expecting Lord Lothur, but not Frigga, and her presence made him wonder what Loki had planned for the interview. 

Loki greeted them; it seemed easier to let Loki manage the niceties. Bruce observed quietly, not saying more than necessary. Drinks were served, the usual small talk was made, and soon all the servants were dismissed. Once the four of them were alone, there was a little bit of formality, some protocol that Loki had insisted was important before Loki turned to Bruce.

“Bruce. If you please.”

Bruce fidgeted badly, so much so that Loki reached over to set a gentle hand on his fingers to remind him to calm down.

“Sorry. Sorry. I don't know where to begin. I'm not sure what you want to know.”

“Tell us from the beginning, then, what you recall.” Lothur's voice was grave; his hand absently went to his shoulder, as if to grip a weapon, perhaps his axe, Bruce guessed, and it gave the situation much more gravity than Bruce had anticipated.

“I was staying at Fandral's place, down in the city. It's nice. And everything seemed fine; no one bothered me, I got some reading done...but then. I don't remember this very clearly, but someone came knocking on the door. A couple guys. They're in dark clothes. It was late afternoon, maybe. I'm not sure what time. Next thing I remember, I wake up. Someone's kicked the shit out of me. Sorry, pardon my language, Your Majesty.”

Frigga waved off his concerns. “Please, go on.”

“I remember...looking out a window. A narrow one. And seeing the city and palace below.”

“The steward found that room on the second walk-through.” Loki brought up a golden schematic of the palace, and adjusted the scale of it with a wave of his hand, zooming in on the spire. “It's part of a series of supporting chambers that honeycomb through the top of the great spire, near a machine room. Rather insignificant, not much better than a storage room, with little evidence in it to suggest anyone was there other than a makeshift bed. But please Bruce, do go on.”

“Passed out again. Don't remember why. Next time I'm awake, someone's covering me with dirt and pebbles--”

“The stolen healing stones!” Lothur glanced over at Loki. “Recently there were reports from the healers that some had gone missing. And to think this is where they went...” He shook his head gravely.

Bruce paused for a moment before continuing. “There was a guy there. The servant with the blond hair. He was the one who was using the healing stones, or whatever you call them, on me. I felt better, he gave me some food and drink and some water to wash up with. Took away my old clothes, and gave me some clean ones to wear.”

“Has anyone found those?” Lothur asked.

“No. Not a trace.” Loki said. “This is the first I've heard of it.”

“That might be important. I don't want to cause any alarm, but the clothes were...it was all covered in blood from me getting beaten up, and...well, let's just say there's a lot of research potential in me.” Bruce frowned, remembering something from the past. “It's no good that someone's got that.”

“Noted.” Loki looked to Lothur. “We may need to check facilities on Asgard that might have access to Bruce's genetic material. Though it's been long enough that it could have been already taken off-world. Worth a look though.”

“Yes, of course, Loki.” Lothur seemed to make a mental note to himself before gesturing for Bruce to continue.

“Fell asleep again, woke up. Saw the blond guy and his brother, the one with the darker hair...kind of blondish-brown, I guess. They were talking about killing me, but the servant... Actually, I've been thinking about it. That guy probably saved my life.”

“What makes you think that?” Frigga asked.

“First there were the things he said.” Bruce took a deep breath, and tried to remember all the points he wanted to make, the ones he had been thinking about while preparing for this interview. “The blond guy said his brother wanted me dead because I got in the way during the fight on Vanaheim. According to him, I wounded his brother's pride by saving him in battle, when he meant to die. So that's why they didn't kill me.”

“You thwarted his plans of dying in battle?”

“Yeah, I guess. And there was something that happened on Svartalfheim...and I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I'm very sure that this is what happened: he grabbed me to keep me from falling, and I remember feeling something on my sleeve rip. I know what arm it was, because I ended up bruised a little, from his fingers.”

“The stone. Do you think he tore it off you? Oh yes, of course. Fandral mentioned it in his report. There were some snapped threads. On the right arm.”

“Yeah. The stone that had a spell cast on it. Later, I found it on the ground, on my left-hand side. The guy grabbed me on the right. I think...he tore the stone off my sleeve and tossed it, in such a way that wasn't obvious.”

“Which means he was being watched.” Lothur steepled his fingers. “Perhaps by means of magic.”

“Perhaps.” Loki frowned to himself.

“That doesn't answer why would he sabotage his own plans.” Frigga said thoughtfully. 

“I don't know, but it was subtle, what he did. That's when he told me that there were others involved. Somehow...I think he didn't really want me dead.”

“It sounds as though that man wanted vengeance. Perhaps he couldn't stop his brother. After all, he would have been honor-bound to support his brother. So he did the next best thing; manipulate the situation so that there is a witness left, one whose survival most likely guaranteed the destruction of whoever convinced his brother to destroy himself.”

“Yeah, I think you're right, Loki. I think he told me because he wants whoever it was that was behind this taken down. But he didn't leave many clues.”

“No, he didn't. Though we have now the identities of the servant and the guard.”

“This is a new development.” Lothur looked to Loki. “Loki, what have your men discovered?”

“Their names and the household they served.”

“And?”

“Perhaps, Lord Lothur, you are familiar with the names? The one who posed as a servant was named Agnar, of the Einherjar. His true brother, Geirroth, also of the Einherjar. Gerrioth was verified to be on Vanaheim during the Wild Hunt; he was one of the nine members of the honor guard.” Loki paused, gauging Lord Lothur's reaction before continuing. “The two came from your household, and have served there for many years.”

Loki glanced over at Frigga, who shook her head, her mouth stern.

“My...servants?” The shock on Lothur's face was palpable; he was completely stunned. “My king, I...”

“No. Please don't. It needs no explanation.” Loki's face was grim, and Bruce looked away, unsure of what to do or say; it never occurred to him that Lord Lothur could have been involved in the kidnapping. It seemed strange, and strangely out of character for the elder statesman.

“This...this is an outrage to my honor! Had they lived, I would have executed them by my own hand. I will resign my post at once, my king. Should you recommend exile, I will accept it willingly. Even execution. I only ask that--”

“No, Lord Lothur.” Loki gestured, cutting him off. “You're under no suspicion. Your loyalty to Asgard and to the throne is unquestionable, and I have no reason to believe you would betray the crown.”

Lothur shook his head, pale and shaken. “My honor--”

“Is not being questioned, uncle; you have been all your life ethical beyond reproach. Some opportunist planned this to try to take down as many people loyal to me or my interests as possible. This was a very clever stratagem to attack my allies; my brother, Fandral, Bruce, yourself...” Loki's eyes were intense. “They found a weak link in your household and exploited it ruthlessly, causing the deaths of two rather promising young men. I am in particular very disappointed in the death of the servant, Agnar. We're fairly certain he's the one who built these machines. His quarters were searched, and books on machine design were found, along with the tools he must have used to create the devices.”

“That servant guy...he could use magic. He used it to put me to sleep and wake me up. He touched my forehead...” Bruce motioned. “With three fingers, like this.”

“A loss.” Loki's expression was grim. “All a waste, a waste of good talent. Had I only known in advance...are you sure Agnar gave you no names?”

“Sorry, Loki. He didn't say anything.”

“Honorable, even in death.” Loki shook his head. “The wounded pride, the vengeance, the  
self-destruction...dying arm-in-arm with your true brother...this is the stuff of bard's lays, not reality. And yet...”

“For such a thing to happen, someone must have known about Agnar's abilities. Perhaps he already was part of a conspiracy against the throne,” Frigga said. “After all, he could not have designed and made the devices so quickly; that is the work of years, not days. And how many are there who practice seidr? He must have a connection to someone. Look into his background and find the person that taught him.”

“Geirroth must have been chosen for the guard, knowing something could happen. The battle on Vanaheim.” Lothur was already looking better, recovered from his initial shock.

“Useful coincidence? The region picked was one where a battle would be likely, but that is the nature of the Wild Hunt.” Loki suggested.

“Maybe they just got lucky. You know, you throw enough tools at a problem, something's bound to work eventually.” Bruce shrugged. “After all, it's not like anyone knew about the other guy. They couldn't have known.”

“Perhaps you're right. I suppose we'll never know for certain, not until we root out the conspirators.” Loki sat back. “What do we do now?”

“Question those in the honor guard that still survive. Purge our households of traitors.”

“That may be too drastic a measure, Lord Lothur. I think we need subtlety.”

“So you suggest we do nothing?”

“Not nothing. Merely....not as much as you wish.”

And it went on like this; Loki and Lord Lothur arguing until they managed to argue themselves into a stalemate, ultimately agreeing to discuss it further at a later date.

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Banner.” Lord Lothur nodded politely to Bruce, who bowed. “We shall see that you are avenged, and that those who would dare go against the throne are punished.”

“No, I don't need--” But here, Loki gave him a nudge, and he closed his mouth, troubled.

After Lord Lothur and the Queen left, Loki turned to Bruce, bending down to steal a kiss. “Thank you. I'm sorry you had to witness that.” 

“I don't get why you had to bring your mother into this. You could have warned me.”

“I'm sorry. I needed another witness, one who I trusted to show discretion. Lord Lothur's no traitor; after he came into his majority, he set aside his royal colors and his rank to be no more than a councillor in order to support his brother. I suppose perhaps I would have been expected to do that, had Thor become king.” Loki's mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “It was a sign that he would never aspire to the throne. Since then he's dutifully served, acting even as regent during a time when Odin disappeared and stepping back down again when Odin returned. He could have easily seized the throne for himself back then, declaring Odin lost and dead, but he refused. It would make no sense for Lothur to betray the throne now, when he had ample opportunity in the past.”

“That's interesting, but that still doesn't explain why you asked your mother to this meeting.”

“Oh, Mother was here to make sure he knows that someone else of rank knows that he's been accused. Gives me a little bit of an edge over him in case I need something from him.”

“Seriously, Loki?”

“This is the way life in the court of Asgard.” Loki's mouth tightened in a thin line. “Whatever advantage I can take, I must take.”

“I'm sorry, but this is kind of shitty of you to do, especially when he's been good to you...”

“In so much that he has been loyal to the throne. You don't know the past.”

“No, I don't. And right now, I'd prefer not to think of the past, especially the recent past. Look, I'd love to help you problem-solve if it's economics or whatever else that doesn't involve me, but I can't help you if I'm part of the problem. I'm sorry, Loki.” The tension that had held him in its claws all morning had peaked sometime in the last hour; Bruce was trembling from it, and exhausted. He closed his eyes briefly, and felt Loki's hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

“Very well. Do what you must. I won't trouble you.”

*****

Days passed, and Bruce retreated into quiet, contemplative solitude.

Once he figured out how to open the high windows of Loki's childhood room, he never really closed them, liking the warm spill of daylight on the woven rugs and the glitter of starlight at night dusting the rumpled bedding. Sometimes birds came and perched on the narrow ledge of the window; he left the crumbs from his breakfasts for them to eat. There was one that visited every morning, and if he stood very still, in a deep, almost meditative calm, the bird would snatch bits of cheese from his outstretched hand.

These days Bruce wasn't going out much; the few times he did, Loki's guards followed him everywhere and it felt like overkill, so he stayed put. He spent his days doing research, with Lopt as his only companion. He was not really taking visitors though he turned no one away who came to see him, merely not encouraging them to stay. He settled into a pleasant isolation that reminded him a little bit of the old days in New Mexico, but without a garden to care for, a piano to play, and without grants to write.

His theoretical work was going well; there were new ideas that he had intuited but never quite explored woven throughout the Asgardian works; as well, there were concepts that were wholly alien to him that he struggled to understand, much less prove. There was fertile ground all around for new theorems, new conceptions of the universe, and he was filling reams of papers with his thoughts and calculations.

He was sleeping, but not well; his dreams were plagued by memories of the past so it helped to be alone. He could nap as he pleased, and there was no one around to irritate him other than himself, which meant he didn't have to constantly worry about the other guy. 

So Bruce stayed shut up and Loki politely left him to his own business for the most part, though they still had an occasional meal together when Loki's schedule allowed for it. There wasn't much talk about the investigation and Bruce was grateful for that. Sometimes, if his thoughts strayed, it would stray to that moment when he saw the bodies. He remembered; their fingers were twined together, hands gripping each other tightly. Blood seeped between their wrists like a tangled red ribbon binding the two brothers together in death as in life...

Startled, Bruce stood up, and paced the room. Lost in thought, it took him a few seconds longer than it normally would to notice the knocking at the door.

The door slid open minutely, and a servant's voice came through:

“There's someone to see you, Dr. Banner.”

“Yes, thank you. Tell them I'll be right there.” Bruce sighed and wondered if he could be bothered to wrestle himself into the armour. After realizing he had forgotten to ask who it was, he thought the better of it and put it all on, just in case.

 

“You seem better. The last I saw you, we were still on Svartalfheim.”

“Yeah? Thanks. You're not looking bad yourself. Is that a new hairstyle?”

Thor gave him a look; his hair was completely unchanged from the last time Bruce saw him. “Our mutual friends say you are not yourself these days, that you do not take visitors for any longer than it takes to be polite. My brother won't say much one way or the other; he, I think, respects your privacy. I, however, don't. Tell me, have you sustained injury?”

Briefly taken aback by Thor's directness, it took Bruce a moment to answer him, to work up the very real effort it took to meet Thor's eyes. “No, I'm fine. A medic came by the day after I got back and I had a full checkup. Nice girl; she ran some glowy wand over me. She said everything was normal for a Midgardian. I'm fine, just a little tired.”

“Then what about magic? Are there lingering effects? Some strange spells cast on you?”

“Loki checked me over himself. I'm fine.” Bruce forced his lips into something that had the semblance of a smile. “Please, sit. Have a seat. You want a drink? I can call someone to bring us a drink. Or a snack. Whatever...”

Thor shook his head, dismissing him easily. “If you're fine, then these reports of your seclusion--”

“Of my uh, 'introvert time'? They're true.” Bruce sat down as Thor did, fidgeting, pulling of his glasses and turning them over in his hands. “I needed some time to rest and think. By myself.”

“Oh? And what have you concluded.”

“Nothing useful.” Bruce shrugged, not wanting to discuss his thoughts, not with Thor. 

“A shame for a man as brilliant as yourself.”

Bruce's jaw set; pride pricked. “I'm not that kind of a thinker. This is not the kind of problem that can be solved with axioms and and theorems and equations. This sort of...escapade wasn't exactly what I signed up for. Not that I signed up for anything.”

“So you admit Loki brought you here without your permission.”

“I don't even know why that's important anymore. I thought you two figured this out between yourselves, but if that's not the case....if you're thinking about taking me back to Earth by force, you've got another thing coming,” Bruce scowled. “I'm telling you right now that I prefer we settle this without any uh, 'other' assistance on my part, if you know what I mean.”

“Ha, there's the warrior spirit in you.” Thor smiled, a bright spark of excitement in his blue eyes. “You, who fought by my side in the greatest battlefield I have ever had the pleasure of fighting in. Tell me, Bruce, why can you not say to us what is wrong? We Asgardians, this is why we refight the battle later with words and boasting. To tell others of our valor, surely, but also so that the battle does not rage on inside of us, with no outlet.”

“There was no fight this time. It was just bullshit politics that I don't want to be involved in.”

“Yet by accepting Loki's offer, you are a part of it. Being by his side means being a member of Loki's court, for better or worse.”

“I didn't accept anything. I just...” Bruce ran his hands through his hair.

“You did. He offered, you agreed. Maybe not in so many words, but if you hadn't, you wouldn't be here. I know. I remember you, Bruce, from our time as brothers-in-arms. You're a stubborn, clever man. You wouldn't have come along if you didn't agree.”

“That was years ago when we first met...”

“Maybe, but are you not clever and stubborn now?”

Bruce paused, before shaking his head. He rubbed at his growing beard, hearing the little scritch of his stubble. “Look, maybe you should go. I don't know what you're trying to accomplish--”

“It wouldn't look very good if I left too soon,” Thor smirked, and there was something in it that reminded Bruce of Loki, when Loki was about to drop some revelation that Bruce probably wouldn't like.

“...do I want to know why?” Bruce asked. “No, I probably don't want to know why,” he muttered to himself.

“You may not, but you were going to find out anyway. It would be necessary. Did Loki not tell you? When you were taken hostage, we set up a ruse to throw off those that took you.”

“This is the first I've heard of it. Go on.” Bruce shook his head, rubbing at his temples.

“The details are not important, but,” Thor leaned over. “The court thinks that we brothers are in accordance over you, if you understand.”

“Um. Actually. I...okay, just spell it out. I don't, that is...I'm not sure what you mean by that.”

“It's widely known now that the three of us are one in bed.”

Bruce leaned over, hands in his face, and made a sound that was strange even to him. “Oh...no. No. You're kidding. Seriously? What? At the same time?”

“Well.” Thor shrugged. “True brothers share everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.” Thor met his eye.

“...Loki...” 

“Don't be mad at him. It's not entirely his fault. There was a misunderstanding and he went with it, in the spirit of improvisation.”

“So...”

“Unless you want others to think that my brother and I have fallen out over you, which would not be good for either of us, especially him...I think I should be here for at least an hour. Perhaps two or three,” Thor grinned. “You can't be rid of me so easily.”

“Fine. Fine,” Bruce growled. “As long as you're not thinking...” Bruce looked Thor over and embarrassed, shoved his hands in his face. “You're not really thinking about--”

“I can't say I haven't considered it.” Thor looked Bruce over. “After all, this wouldn't be the first time Loki and I have...come to an accordance. In the past, we often had our agreements.”

“Oh...”

“But we have other agreements and arrangements now.” Thor shrugged it off. “And it seems that the existence of these agreements are already too disturbing for you to consider, so let it go from your thoughts.”

“I don't think...that's so easy.” Bruce was glad he was too dark to show much of a blush, but the image of Thor, stripped down and...

“Work on it, then. For me, you're not necessarily my first choice, but...I would make exceptions when my brother is involved.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“It's not meant to be a slight to you. After all, you're a brave man, and handsome enough in your own way. You'd be worthy of my hammer,” Thor grinned.

Mortified, Bruce stared at his feet, fingers tangled in his hair.

“But that is not why I'm here. I'm here because we are all concerned for your well-being. Especially Loki, though he won't admit it to you.”

“I'm fine. Totally fine.” Bruce took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Just tired lately and resting, that's all.”

“Tell me what's wrong.”

“Nothing, nothing. Though.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“I don't like being followed around by the guards.”

“Get used to it; even Loki has his guards. I did too, when I was crown prince. Whenever were you around the palace without an escort or a nearby guard?”

“When was I...? Oh.” Bruce shook his head; he had never noticed. “You're right. Fandral and Sif count, don't they?”

“They certainly count.” Thor reached over and caught Bruce's shoulder with a broad, firm hand, giving him a squeeze. “This is the reality of life on Asgard, Bruce. We of course are accustomed to it from an early age, but you are unused to our ways. You have to accept that this is the way of our world.”

“Why...is that? Isn't Asgard the most powerful of the nine realms? Are you guys that worried about invaders?”

“It is custom, from an ancient time beyond memory. Surely, I do not know why it is that we do this, but sometimes I wonder. Factional politics? A show of strength?”

“Job security for all the guards? Keeps the economy going?”

“I don't know. I have never questioned it,” Thor said thoughtfully. “Truly, I can see what my brother sees in you.”

“Yeah?” Bruce chuckled to himself, nervously, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think you're the only one. Half the time I don't even get it.”

“No? Why wouldn't you?”

“Too close to see it. If I wasn't me, I'd probably notice in a second but...” Bruce shrugged. “The subject can't be the observer.”

“All the same.” Thor dismissed his concerns with an absent gesture. “You must end the stalemate with yourself. Your inconsistency is unkind to him, though he will not say.”

“'Inconsistency'?” Bruce blinked, genuinely surprised.

“Loki is proud. We are very much alike in that way, though my experiences with Midgardians has given me some perspective that he does not have. He would never ask that you love him. Perhaps joke about it, but he would never speak of it seriously. Whatever he's offered, he's laid out neatly; it's up to you to respond.”

“How do you...? Did he...?”

Thor smiled broadly, settling back, his hands resting on his knees. “All my life I had always heard tales that we were so close, so similar in the womb that even our hearts nearly beat as one. That however...did not turn out to exactly be true, but I never stopped believing what I was told. Whatever really happened, whatever true circumstances of our births...I choose to believe the other story, that the two of us were birthed from the same womb. I will always believe that he is my twin. And as his twin brother, I know everything about him. Such as your fight at Fandral's house.”

“Christ. You don't pull any punches, do you?” Horrified, Bruce hugged himself; every word, every action came flooding back to him in a sudden sickening jolt of memory.

“I love him, and I want the best for him. I would do anything for my brother, within reason. I expect that you're here because you also love him and want the best for him. Because otherwise, we might have to have words.”

“We...” And here Bruce stared down at the ground, at the finely woven wool rug beneath his feet, almost unable to get the words out. “We...don't need to have words.”

“Good. Then you should do what's right by Loki. Bruce Banner, you must leave your strange, self-imposed exile. Accept that you are here now, and part of Loki's court, part of his household. Tell him how you feel; he won't believe it from anyone but you.”

Resentment and a flash of anger coursed through him at those words; Thor had no right coming in and trying to manipulate and guilt him into a course of action, and it took Bruce a moment to catch himself, to steady the other guy into submission.

“Hey. Thor. Has it been an hour yet?”

“Barely half that.”

Bruce bit back a curse. “It would be rude to leave you here by yourself.”

“It would be.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm going to be rude.” Bruce stood up. “Please make yourself at home. I have some business to attend to.”

“Of course.” Thor sat back, arms stretched out over the back of the divan. “Do what you must; Loki's quarters are big enough for both of us.”

“Sure thing,” Bruce managed not to snarl, and as he walked out, all he could think was that it was a tactical retreat. That sounded much less cowardly than running away.

***** 

The last thing he needed, Bruce thought to himself, was to be beset upon by anyone meaning well. Incensed, he paced the room, his thoughts a blur of arguments and angry words that he could not in good conscience say to anyone. It took him a few minutes to realize his thoughts were going nowhere good; he had to calm down and try to let the resentments go. Try to care as little as possible. Thor's heavy-handed approach didn't mean that he himself had to respond in kind.

Feeling the other guy restless in its cage of flesh, Bruce sat down and focused on his breathing for a while, and mentally did some exercises; picking large odd numbers at random and checking them for primality, mentally modeling the structures of complex organometallic compounds...whatever it took to set his feelings aside and replace them with studied disinterest.

In time, he heard the guards at the outer door; Thor had left. The relief was palpable; he didn't think Thor would have pursued him to talk, but he was happier alone, knowing that he would see no one for the rest of the day, not unless he wanted to. Soon, the other guy settled down to where Bruce could feel safe lowering his defenses and he collapsed, exhausted on the bed, landing awkwardly on a pile of books that had been accidentally hidden by a fold of bedding.

“Ow.” He closed his eyes for a moment, irritated, but he had only himself to be mad at. So he got up again and gathered the loose books up, heading to the bookshelf to put them away. There weren't that many in this room; he was reminded that he still had the stacks that had been moved to Loki's library.

As he finished shelving, a faint glow caught his eye, the colorful luminescence of a stone. He picked up the dense, heavy stone and brought it over to the bed, setting it down carefully, cautious of breaking anything so valuable to Loki. This must have been the material that Loki spoke of, an ensorcelled machine part that came from the ships of the dark elves (and those ships, Bruce realized, must have been the dark, shattered towers he had seen rising from the distant plains). He turned it over on the bedding; it was like a slightly flattened cobble, smooth and symmetric. Putting on his glasses, he peered closely, wondering what the material was. He placed his hand over the cool stone.

Thoughtfully, he tried to imagine how Loki retrieved it, perhaps a younger man or even a boy, clambering into the depths of an ancient rusting hulk of a spaceship, a bold and charming youth whose boyish arrogance protected him from fear. Or perhaps he was more thoughtful and scholarly, an explorer whose scientific interests drove him into bravery he would normally not have. It made Bruce wonder...

“Excuse me. What are you doing in my room?” 

Startled, Bruce flinched, looking around but saw no one.

“I'm sorry, did you not hear me? What are you doing in my room?” And he looked up to see a boy, a young teenager, standing over him, staring him down. There was something terribly familiar about him, the long column of his throat, the wave of dark hair at his forehead...

Surprised, Bruce turned over and scrambled to a sitting position; the boy side-stepped him neatly.

“If you won't leave, I'll call for the guard,” the boy said primly. “I have my own guards, you know. They'll come running and run you through.”

“Wait, wait. I think it's okay for me to be here. I'm pretty sure I'm allowed.” Bruce realized who he was talking to and held up his arm, showing the boy the green material that peeked through the vambraces. The boy gave his sleeve a very stern and thorough inspection.

“Hmm. I suppose you pass muster.” Loki sat back on the bed, looking at Bruce curiously. “Who are you, and why are you wearing my colors?”

“I'm a friend. Your friend. Well, not right now, but I will be. Someday.” Bruce smiled gently. 

“Ugh. You're old.” Loki made a face. “And not very good looking.”

“...gee, thanks.” Bruce took his glasses off, and set them aside. “Better?”

“Maybe? Not really.”

“Oh, it's the beard, isn't it?” Bruce frowned; when was the last time he shaved? He scratched at his chin thoughtfully; he really ought to do something about that. And maybe a haircut too; that would be good. Things were getting a little out of control...

“Only old men have beards. Like Father. Or Uncle Lothur.” Loki sat cross-legged, staring at Bruce curiously, eyes bright. “How are we friends? You don't seem like someone I'd be friends with. Sorry.”

“You fell out of the sky, into the desert near my house. Stuff happened. Let's see. We started hanging out. You liked my cooking. We ate corn. More stuff happened. Um. And here I am.” Bruce wondered what topic was appropriate to discuss with a boy of this age and settled on vagueness as a compromise.

“Were there battles?” Loki's eyes sparkled with excitement, and Bruce couldn't help but smile. “Did we fight monsters together?”

“Nah.” Bruce managed not to scowl; he could never quite get away from that word. “Not really much of a fight. More like you were pulling some pretty high grade pranks. Actually now that I think about it, there hasn't been that much fighting at all the entire time I've known you. Lots of pranks though.”

“Oh. That's dull.” Loki crossed his arms and laid back on the bed. “Except perhaps the pranks. That sounds it could be fun.”

“You like pranks?”

“I suppose.” Loki kicked his heels against the bed. “I used to be punished for them, but now. I don't know. No one seems to mind anymore.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Only if you promise not to say anything, especially not to my brother. Or Father.”

“Upon my honor.” Bruce made a gesture with his fist pressed to his heart, something that Fandral had taught him the first day.

Loki sighed and laid back down on the bed staring at the ceiling. Absently, he twirled his fingers and a little starry speck of light appeared, floating above him. “Father started saying that only one of us was going to be king, even though brother and I were supposed to be kings together. And...then right after that, Thor was picked to be his sole heir.”

The tiny light disappeared with an unsteady wink as Loki lost focus, and the boy pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes briefly before taking a deep, steadying breath, as if he did not dare comport himself in any manner that showed weakness. “That was a year ago. Since then, no one seems to care what I do. Sometimes I think people create opportunities for me to mess up, so it's clear that only Thor is worthy to be Father's heir.”

“What about your mother?”

“She's still fighting for my rights. They argue sometimes, but Father always wins. He's king. He can do what he wants.” Loki hugged himself. “Last night he said that if she's so worried about my right to rule, he can displace her brother Lord Freyr and put me in his place as King of Vanaheim.”

“Did he really say that?” Bruce's eyebrows went up. “Could he do it?

“Really. And Father could, if he really wanted.” Loki hugged himself. “I hate our dinners together as a family. Absolutely the worst. I'm too upset to eat and Father gets mad when I don't eat enough, and they won't excuse me until the last course is served. I just wish it could be like it used to be.”

“What was that like?”

“I liked it better when Father and Mother weren't fighting over us. When we were just children and it wasn't about their factions and their influence at court.” Loki sighed. “I liked it better when older boys weren't showing up with stupid dares and challenges to make me look bad or get me into trouble. It's like they think I don't notice that their fathers are all my father's political supporters or people who would stand to gain the most if Thor is on the throne. But they know I can't turn them down, not without losing honor. So what am I supposed to do?”

“I don't know. I wish I could help you. I'm sorry.”

“We must be friends. Because I've never told anyone this. I probably never will. But somehow I know I can trust you.” Loki smiled at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Sorry I called you old and ugly. You're not ugly or that old.”

“Uh...thanks. It's okay. I've been called a lot worse.” Bruce sighed and turned to meet Loki's eyes. “Look. You're going to be all right. Whatever happens...your family still loves you. Especially your mother and your brother. I can't speak for your father, I've never met him, but I'm sure he loves you too...”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yeah. I know.” Bruce smiled weakly, thinking of his own father. 

“I want that to be true.” The boy smiled sadly to himself and reached for the stone. “I really do. Thank you for the talk. I feel a bit better.”

Touching the stone, the boy disappeared and Bruce was alone. He cupped the stone between his hands; it glowed with its own mysterious inner light, but it was utterly inert. He wondered, what had brought that figment of the past to life? Was it another one of Loki's copies, trapped in the stone's depths? Or was it merely a projection, an illusion? Or even stranger, a brief superposition of time and space; perhaps he had actually talked to Loki in his past? Bruce had no idea.

Holding the stone, he tried thinking of Loki again, tried to imagine the boy with the melancholy eyes who had appeared to him, but to no avail. The stone was merely a stone and he was utterly alone in the room. So he picked set it back on its place on the shelf, carefully. Stroking his fingers over the smooth surface thoughtfully, he headed out of the room decisively.

*****

It was late when Loki returned from the feast and his rooms seemed quiet, empty, but that was the case even when Bruce was here. Here and not here; it had been days and days since they had returned from the wastes of Svartalfheim. Bruce was like a little shadow in his life, present but not present, polite enough and pleasant enough, but elsewhere in his thoughts, distant and isolated, unwilling to be reached.

Loki took a moment to take a breath; he had tried talking to Bruce; everyone had in turn tried to get through to him. Even Thor, finally, but wherever Bruce was now, it was nowhere that anyone else could follow. That was unlike Bruce; he had never known Bruce to behave like this. But then again, perhaps this was truly more of what the man was like, more so than Bruce would ever admit.

As Loki walked into his quarters, he noticed there was a light on, in his bed chamber, one that could have only been turned on intentionally, and curious, Loki went in.

Empty, again. The room was empty. He sighed, the expectation that had crept up when he saw the light fading, quashed by disappointing reality. Of course Bruce was not here. Wherever Bruce was cloistered, the light was probably incidental. Except then a far door opened, and Bruce walked in, something of a smile on his lips.

“You've shaved. And cut your hair?”

“Nah, not me. I mean, I did get all this cleaned up, but I asked your steward. He sent a barber.” Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “They did a pretty great job...don't think I've had a shave this good in...well, maybe ever. Same with the haircut. Do you like it?”

“I think I miss your curls.” Loki stepped forward, stroking his fingers through Bruce's short-cropped hair.

“Give it time,” Bruce shrugged. “It'll grow back.” 

“What's the occasion? I've never seen you like this before.”

“Thought I'd try something new. Kinda getting tired of the old look. Everything was getting a little out of control.”

“I didn't want to say anything, but I much prefer you clean-shaven.”

“Yeah, I think I figured that out today.” Bruce looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and Loki realized it had been some time since they had spoken nearly this much.

There was a pause, and Loki could tell Bruce was coming to some kind of decision, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. Quirking a glance at Bruce made him suddenly take a deep breath and speak; the words almost sounded rehearsed, especially where Bruce paused and stumbled:

“So I asked your steward about some other things, and he showed me around and... I'm sure you know about this, but. Here.” And Bruce offered Loki his hand. Loki took it, clasping it firmly, and let Bruce lead the way into the other room.

“So you've found the bathing pool.”

“Yeah, you were holding out on me, weren't you? All this time scrubbing down with a basin of water, and I could have been soaking instead.” Bruce tried to joke, as they went through the far door. There, candles burnt in their niches, and the hot, alkaline waters awaited them in a triangular pool with rounded vertices. Beyond, a great balcony was open to the sky, the glow of stars burning brightly just beyond the golden walls.

“Unintentionally, Bruce. I had genuinely forgotten. My quarters are filled with rooms that I barely use. I started with two as a boy, just the bedroom and a study room, and as I grew older with more responsibilities, I received more space. Becoming king...I suppose I've picked up another handful of rooms, as befit my rank and station.”

“Yeah? I kind of like it. It's got a nice view. Could use a railing though, but I'm staying away from the edge. So. How about it? You and me?” Bruce gestured, glancing up at Loki for his response.

“Surely, I must still be drunk. Are you offering to bathe with me?”

“No. Yes. I mean, I don't think you're drunk. But yeah, I'm offering. So...” Bruce managed something that seemed like a shy smile. “Maybe you can help me out of all this armour.”

“With pleasure.” Pleasantly surprised, Loki reached out to Bruce, who stood very still, as if bracing himself against a blow.

“Bruce, you make me feel as though I am about to torture you. Try to relax.”

“Sorry.” Bruce winced. “Maybe I should just do it myself.”

“All right. I'll leave you to it.” Between one step and the next, Loki was completely unclothed; he stepped into the heated water, piped in from natural hot springs deep below the city and submerged himself, watching Bruce unfastening his armour.

“Is this going to be a while, Bruce?” Loki leaned back, a carelessly elegant motion, and embarrassed to keep Loki waiting, Bruce fumbled with his clothes, struggling out of them and tossing them off at random, piece by piece. 

“Sorry, sorry. I didn't meant to make you wait. You know it takes me a while to get all this off and...ugh.” Bruce struggled with a stuck strap. “Why is this always so--” 

The piece slid off suddenly, clattering to the floor, and Bruce glanced over at Loki whose hand was raised, fingers slightly outstretched.

“...that was you, wasn't it?”

“Certainly. I forgot. I could undress you here like this too.” Loki's mouth moved in a mischievous smile. “Shall I?”

“I'm okay now. The armour's the hardest part.” Bruce pulled off his tunic easily.

“Has anyone told you that you are the worst at stripping down? Whatever it is you're doing, it's not alluring at all.”

“Sorry, I spent most of my twenties and early thirties getting two doctorates and a master's degree. It would have been three if I hadn't gotten into a pretty serious argument with my advisor partway through the program. Though I guess I could have paid for school better if I stripped, assuming someone would have hired me. Not that I had to, because you know. Full-ride.” Bruce grinned, tossing off the rest of his clothes, shivering in the cool air. “Stipends. Scholarships. I mean, I wasn't rich by any means, but it wasn't all canned beans and ramen.”

“Funny, you've never told me so much about your past.” Loki's eyes ran over Bruce, over the strong shoulders and the dark hair of his chest, curling at the ends. He offered Bruce his hand, and Bruce stepped gingerly into the hot water. 

“Ah, that's nice...” Bruce sighed, but then he squared his shoulders as if to focus himself. “I thought we should...I should be more open about things. Life. Me. We've never really...done this sort of thing.”

“I recall that we did; back some years ago, near your house. There was a natural hot spring, on the mountain.”

“Oh right. I almost forgot about that. No, I meant. Do the kind of things where we get to know each other better. Because...”

“Are you trying to apologize?”

“Maybe? No, I take that back. No, not at all. This isn't meant to make up for anything. I'm not trying to apologize like this. I don't like big gestures. They're made by selfish, thoughtless...inconsiderate people who think a grand gesture can make up for years of unkindness and neglect. It's better if we're good to each other every day, regularly. I'm just trying. Trying to say that...”

“You're very sweet, you know.” Loki stroked Bruce's hair, his hand cupping the side of his face. “When you want to be. When your defenses are down like this...”

Flustered, Bruce interrupted him. “You can't talk about me like that when I'm trying. Give me a minute to get my thoughts out, okay? I really have something I need to say.”

“Oh, Bruce. Of course. My apologies.”

“It's okay. Sorry for being so...me. Brusque. That was uncalled for. I'm just... trying to say that I want to...I want you to know me better. I want us to be more comfortable. With each other. I really...” And here Bruce seemed to shrink into himself, unable to speak.

Loki slid his arm around Bruce's waist, drawing him close. Water lapped against Bruce's shoulders, and the dark hair of his arms, his chest, floating in the water made a dark, fuzzy halo around his body.

“I really like you.” And here Bruce drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I think that maybe I love you. I don't know how to...I mean, I want to try. I'm good at a lot of things. By definition, I'm a polymath. But I'm really bad at this, and I'm bad at feelings, and I'm basically a failure at relationships. Today I met someone who...pointed out, indirectly, that maybe I'd be better off if I opened up a little more.”

“Was it Thor?”

“Thor?” Bruce sounded briefly confused, and then shook his head. “Oh right, that was today. No, no. Not him. He meant well, but no. You didn't send him?”

“I tried to dissuade him. Several times. He's only held back so long because I asked him not to, but I can't hold him back forever, once he decides on a course of action.”

“Right. No, it wasn't him. It...was you.”

“Me?” Loki gave him a skeptical look.

“That stone, in your bedroom. I don't know if it was a copy or a memory from the past or...”

“Are you sure you weren't dreaming?” Loki kissed him softly, and it made Bruce's breath catch in his throat.

“No, I wasn't. I'm sure. It wasn't a dream...I met you. As a boy.”

“Interesting. What did you think? Did you find me attractive?”

“Loki, please don't make me feel like some kind of an awful pervert. Of course you were good-looking. I don't think you could ever have not been. You were kind of a snot, actually.” Bruce smiled. “You threatened to send your guards after me.”

“I could see that. You must have been intruding.”

“Yeah. We talked for a little bit, and then you touched the stone and disappeared. I don't know how it could have happened.”

“I don't know either. Though, sometimes back then I had the habit of sleeping with that stone. Perhaps it was a dream that bled over into the real world. Who knows?”

“Loki, that is a very strange habit, sleeping with strange alien spaceship parts. No wonder you're so...well, you.”

“Oh, I have even stranger habits than that. Such as sleeping with strange alien beings that turn into you.”

“Technically you've never done that. I'm not sure I'd allow it.”

“Maybe I'll ask him sometime and see what he thinks,” Loki smiled slyly, and Bruce shook his head.

“Anyway! Your brother made me realize that lately I've been...too caught up in my own problems. I don't...I didn't want to burden you or anyone else. You have enough of your own problems without worrying about me. But then Thor, and he kinda pissed me off, you know, but he made me realize I was causing more problems for you by isolating myself. So I'm here to say that I want to find a good balance...between accepting help from my friends and not bothering people with my stupid personal problems.”

“I'm sure they're not foolish. After all, you've never been a foolish man.”

“On paper, sure. Practically speaking. But...” Bruce gestured absently. “Can't be uniformly good at everything.”

“Well, what aren't you good at?”

“I think we've established that clearly, I'm no good at stripping. I can't make falafel or really anything fancy beyond some very basic meals. I'm not much of a dancer, so I'm sorry in advance if this is something that I'm supposed to know how to do as your um, friend at court or whatever I'm supposed to be. I'm no good at German. And then there's this for a specific example.” Tense, Bruce moved over, cautiously, unsure of how to approach Loki, unsure if he would be rejected. He put his arms around Loki carefully, leaning in awkwardly for a kiss.

“Bruce. You're terrible at seduction. Absolutely terrible.” And as if to drive the point home, Loki tilted his head, a graceful movement, and kissed Bruce's throat delicately, sending shivers up his spine.

“Hey, hey. No fair. I have zero practice. Zero. You need some yeast cells synthesizing opioid analogues? Give me a lab, a competent technician, and three or four days to get going. You want a new super-heavy element? I'll submit a five-year budget. It'll take about that long to build a high-energy collider, and we could probably find at least one new element pretty fast after it's tested and up and running. I have some ideas I've been sitting on for a few years. But this. I...”

“Bruce, you're hopeless.”

“Loki. I'm trying.” Bruce met his eyes. “Very hard. I am not good at this, so please, just bear with me...”

“Of course. I find it charming that you're working so hard for my sake. Truly, you must love me.”

Embarrassed, Bruce leaned in and kissed him deeply to shut him up.

*****

“Speaking of dreams. When they had me drugged, I dreamt of you.” Later, Bruce found himself in the bedroom with Loki, lying on the floor, too lazy and exhausted to do much more than cuddle up in the tangled bedding that had fallen off the bed with them.

“Oh? What was I doing? Something sexy, I hope.”

“Destroying the world. You had the sceptre...you were going to use it on me.”

“Mmm. So it was something sexy. And I believe you mean taking over the world. It's a fine distinction, one that you obviously care nothing for. Now that would have been a good plan, had I known of your existence in advance. You would have made a good captive of my spear. The things I would have done to you...” Loki dragged him closer, meeting his eyes. “One shudders to think of it.”

“Ha. You mean, the things you've been doing now?”

“Of course, now you already are captive to my spear.” Loki chuckled. “After all, I brought you back as a spoil of war.”

“Loki. Do you really have to say it like that?”

“Absolutely.” Loki ran his hands over Bruce's body. “Tell me, what did you dream about?”

“Fear. I was afraid.”

“Of me? How very flattering.”

“Absolutely not. It was something else that got conflated with you.”

“How disappointing. But do go on.”

“I dreamt that the Chitauri were back. And you couldn't...well, wouldn't stop them. I was ready to fight, but...it's funny, huh? Me ready to fight. Seems like another world.”

“I've often thought you were a warrior at heart. Though you don't like to admit it. Underneath this warm and fuzzy exterior, as you might say, you're all steel. A core of iron.”

“I was hoping you'd say tungsten carbide.”

“Steel has a better ring to it. And it's more flexible.” Loki stole a kiss. “What are you afraid of then?”

“The usual. Me.” Bruce sighed. “I'm afraid of what I'd do. What I could do. What...I did to you.”

“So you threw me around a little. I've never held it against you, after all, you didn't hurt me that badly. You merely shook me up a bit; knocked the wind out of me. Nothing on Midgard can seriously hurt me. Inconvenience me out of sheer physics, perhaps, but not really hurt me. And of course, you didn't. I had only superficial scrapes...”

“No, I didn't mean Manhattan. And by the way, I'm not sorry for that. You were out of control.”

“Fair's fair.” It was obvious Loki had no particular interest in revisiting that aspect of the past. “But what did you mean, then?”

“The other day.” Bruce ran his hands over Loki's arm, stroking his fine skin thoughtfully. “We fought. I'm really sorry about that. Sometimes I lose control, and I shouldn't have.”

“Mm, but I knew about your temper years ago. You didn't hurt me. The only thing bruised was my pride.”

“No, it's not just that..that's not really...you're not really getting the principle of why I should be sorry. What I did was wrong. Incredibly wrong. I'm afraid of me. Back then, I just wanted to...to just take you and damn the consequences. I'm actually...Sometimes I'm afraid of how much I want you.”

“Bruce. You have some strange ideas as to what a real problem is. I find this to be an excellent problem to have, and I have some ideas as to how we could put it to good use...”

“No, it's...it's not that simple. First of all. This is not...not how I thought of myself, ever. I mean, now sure, the kids, they're all great...boys and boys, girls and girls...they can hold hands around town whenever they want. Kiss, even. No one really bothers them. But I'm from a different time. Growing up, it was different; there wasn't that kind of freedom for people who felt that way. It was forbidden, something shameful you didn't even talk about and I never thought I'd...well, you know. With another man. And now look at me...at us. Here, like this.”

“But that's not all of it. You really aren't terribly bothered by that, are you?”

“No. You're different. I don't know, I don't really think of you as anything but yourself, not like specifically a man or a woman, so that...all the other stuff doesn't really matter much to me. I don't think about it like that. It just makes sense, even though I can't really explain it very well. But maybe what's bothering me more is that I didn't think....I could have these feelings again.”

“Arousal? Sexual desire?”

Bruce nodded.

“Why is that?”

“I gave it up, years ago. Turned it off, as best I could. Way before I met you. It wasn't just because of the other guy, either, though...he's probably part of the equation.” Bruce closed his hand around Loki's wrist, slender but strong, and stroked the palm of the hand that ruled a vast empire. “I was in love, a long time ago. Her name was Betty. Elizabeth Ross.” Bruce smiled to himself, faintly.

“She and I, we worked together. Around the same time I had my accident. The thing that's made me what I am now.”

“The other guy.”

“Yeah. That one. Though he was probably always there, just...hiding inside me. The accident gave him physical form. Things happened. Bad things. I don't like to remember them. We were on the run together for a while. I really loved her. Wouldn't have let her go for the world. One night, I kind of let go. Lost control of myself.”

And it had been spring. He remembered that much. The sweet scent of jasmine had seeped its way into his room at the research facility, and the moonless night was so dark and she was so beautiful and he knew at that moment that he didn't deserve such goodness in his life, had never deserved it nor her...

“It was a mistake. We were both kind of crazy. I can't explain it. I had never felt like that before in my life, and never felt like that since. It must have happened right after the accident, before everything went to hell, before we went into hiding. I was pretty happy to be alive. Happy to be with her. I thought everything was going to be all right. Didn't really know about the other guy yet. Thought we had something great, but I messed up...I ruined her.”

“Bruce?”

“That night. I'm pretty sure it was that night. I think that's when she got pregnant. It was stupid. We should have been more careful. And the two of us, we didn't know about it for a while; there was too much going on. And I guess being on the run, she was too afraid to even really pay attention to little things. Things were really bad for a few months. But then once we knew about the baby, for a few weeks, everything was wonderful. I was so excited. Me, a father. Could you believe it? I didn't. I wanted to do right by her. We made some plans. Couldn't really get married the usual way, not with blood tests and all, but we were trying to figure out where we could go, maybe just find a nice priest... But I didn't think it through. I should have known. It was obvious once I thought about it.” Bruce shuddered, remembering the past. Blood, and so much of it, and the clinic that he took her to had nothing, nothing that could help her and...

“Almost a month after we realized she was pregnant, she lost the baby. She had a miscarriage.” Loki gripped Bruce tighter, he was trembling, his entire body shivering. “But it turned out it was a good thing because...that...that thing that came from her. It wasn't human. Whatever I had made with her. It would never have been human. It was...a monster.”

“Bruce, you shouldn't say that--”

“It was a monster.” Bruce's jaw was set. “So that's...why I pushed you away. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just couldn't stand the thought of hurting you too. I'm damaged, Loki. In every possible way, even down to the chromosomal level. The molecular. You know what...a miscarriage does to a woman? They bleed and bleed, for days. And the grief, the loss of that tiny life...I'll never know how she felt, what she went through. What she lives with. And I did that to her. If I could do it over again, I would have never even kissed her, never even looked at her. I would have turned away before I even could have known her.”

Bruce was silent for a long moment, the muscles of his jaw working. 

“Betty is somewhere safe now. Away from me. I think I heard she's married, but I'm not sure. I'll never see her again. I hurt her, Loki. I ruined her life. Anything with me was just false hope; there was never a future. That day, the day of the accident, I should have died. Past that, it's just pure animal survival--”

“No, don't talk like that.”

“No, this is the truth. What I have with you...this'll be fun while it lasts, and I like you very much. You've been good to me. Good for me, even. You're the best friend I've got these days, and that means a lot to me. But. I don't see any kind of future for me here, not with you, not with anyone. I'm sorry.”

“Ah, Bruce. You are a mess of contradictions.” Loki wiped away a stray tear; had he ever seen Bruce cry before? He couldn't recall. “Perhaps I should have let you think about it more back in the desert, before bringing you here.”

“Maybe.” Sniffling a little, Bruce took a deep, calming breath, the kind that he used to settle the other guy.

“What does it matter to me if you've been damaged? You're not the only one, and I am not expecting you to bear me any heirs.”

“Right, because that's physically impossible. Please tell me that's not a possibility, even with magic.”

“It's not a possibility. Even magic cannot wholly transcend biology.”

“Oh, thank goodness. For a moment there I got worried. Don't get any weird ideas, okay?”

“I like how you're changing the subject to distract my attention, but it's not going to work this time, Bruce.” Loki met Bruce's eyes, bright with unshed tears. “Despite your fears, you still want to try at this relationship. Wasn't this what this evening was about? You're of two minds, Bruce. One chained to a past belief you'll cling to despite evidence to the contrary, and one looking to a future you truly wish to see, though you feel as if you do not deserve it.”

“I...”

“Perhaps it's inherent in you.” Loki pressed the palm of his hand to Bruce's sternum. “After all, you are naturally of two minds. But let me tell you that someone once said to me, that we should try to forgive ourselves the past and move forward from here.”

“No paraphrasing me to try to cheer me up. I'm serious, Loki.”

“And you think I'm not? I am deadly serious.” And at that, Loki shifted in Bruce's grip, her hair curling in that same way around her neck and shoulders, but the rest of her body changing, boyish hips still perhaps and that slender waist, but subtle hints of curves all over, and those breasts...

“Please, Loki...”

“Bruce, we Aesir are rarely fertile, unlike your Midgardians that breed like rabbits. And were you so concerned, all you had to do was ask for prophylactics, and one would have been provided.” Loki made a quick, sharp gesture with her left hand, and handed Bruce an individually packaged condom that appeared between her upraised fingertips.

“Loki...”

“I'm not asking you for your hand in marriage, or a binding contract for your life. I merely want you as my friend and my lover, for however long we can mutually enjoy each other's company, which I hope will be a long time. The way I see it, I'd have trouble keeping you by my side more so than you'd have trouble keeping me; you keep running away from me, especially when I try to do nice things for you.”

Bruce was surprised; he had not thought of it that way. “Look, I don't mean to retreat, it's just...”

“Overwhelmed. You're so easily overwhelmed despite everything. Your feelings overtake you and your only defense against them is flight. I understand now. I'll try to take things a little slower, ease you into things. I admit I can be rather impatient at times.” And here, Loki shifted back to himself. “Keep the prophylactic; we'll use it another day.”

“Thanks.” Bruce fumbled for a moment, unsure of where to put it, before slipping it into a book that had fallen off the bed.

“Honestly, Bruce. You overthink everything.”

“It's just me. This is who I am.”

“It's endearing.” Loki kissed him. “I'm sorry about your lost love. And your lost child. You've suffered much in a short amount of time. You won't ever have children, will you?”

“No. Too much genetic damage. I don't think there is enough gene therapy in the world...in the galaxy to clean up the kind of mess my DNA's turned into. I gave up trying to find a cure years ago. Best not to even think about it. It's...it's okay though. I never really wanted to do that anyway. Have kids. Got plenty of good reasons not to, even if I hadn't been irradiated.”

“I suppose. Though for me, it will be inevitable, someday.”

“Yeah. Sif's a good girl. You should ask her before someone else asks her first.”

“Sif?” And here, Loki began to laugh. 

“What's wrong with Sif? I mean, if she's such a good candidate that your mother's even talking about her...”

“The Lady Sif is as strong as she is lovely, but her heart belongs to someone else. Besides that, she's never liked me very much, not in that regard. I would rather not force the issue.”

“Then why...would your mother...”

“Didn't I tell you? Mother is my best ally. In all things.”

“Oh.” It took Bruce a moment to get it. “Oh. Oh! Loki, you conniving, manipulative little...” And here Bruce gave Loki a glare. “You put her up to it, didn't you?”

“It made for some excellent gossip. The court was abuzz for days. Gave Sif a bit of a surprise too; that was not exactly the point of the plan, but it was helpful in the long run. You and she became such good friends over it.”

“Was all that some kind of a trick?”

“It was meant to guide you into my arms. Mother knew all along about the impasse in our friendship. She supported me in taking you as a lover; she's always thought of you as a good influence. Besides that, you bring just the right kind of drama to the court; your existence forces them to accept my decisions.”

“Loki. Remember how I said you were a snot? Nothing has changed.”

Loki laughed. “Besides, a king of Asgard does not marry so easily and so early in his reign. I expect I have about a thousand years, perhaps two, before I'm old enough to be wed. And Sif, though ravishing, is too low of stature; we kings of Asgard marry to seal alliances and end wars, great ones. Perhaps had Thor and I been of different ages and situations, the war with Jotenheim would have ended with a treaty marriage, instead of trickery and thievery.”

“Really?”

“Really. But things didn't turn out that way.” Loki yawned. “Enough politics. Come on, up with you and into bed. The floor's no place for a king and his royal favorite.”

“I kinda like the floor, but then again, I'm just a lowly peasant from a backwater planet.”

“Then I will lift you bodily. In stature and in literal truth.” 

“No, I'm fine, Loki, I can get up on my own, just give me a minute to...Loki!”

“Truly, despite all the trouble you put me through.” Loki swung Bruce onto the bed, tossing the bedding after him before getting in himself. “I find that I love you, and quite deeply.”

“Oh.”

“You needn't say anything if it's too difficult or if you're uncertain. I know how you feel, even if you're unable to say it.”

There was a long, silent pause as Bruce fussed with the bedding around them, tucking them in against the cold night air. Eventually, he settled against Loki's shoulder, and for a moment, he gripped Loki's bicep tightly.

“I...think that maybe. That is...despite everything. And despite that fact that you're still a manipulative little snot. I...” Bruce turned away briefly, letting out a sigh, a great huff of air. On the verge of saying one thing, he shook his head, changing his mind, and then he leaned in, speaking softly into Loki's ear. 

“Loving you doesn't fix anything. Some things can't ever be fixed. But being here with you helps me more than I can express in words. And I appreciate that. Thank you, Loki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Sorry about the delay. This was a long, difficult chapter to write. Editing alone took hours.
> 
> Lord Lothur acting as regent in Odin's absence is based on a reference from the Lokasenna. He may have been Frigga's lover during that time, as Odin's true brother.
> 
> Thanks to Mikkeneko in general for the interesting and enjoyable discussions in the comments, and specifically for mentioning the story of Geirroth and Agnar; I used their names for this story. There is a significance to the naming, though to be clear, in this context, Frigga did not teach Agnar magic.
> 
> Checking for primality is to check for prime numbers. There are a couple methods. 
> 
> Notes from my file(s):  
> The Einherjar as a group can be broken up into three distinct groups: Some are household staff (first Thor movie, extended scene, when they're clearing the banquet table), others are household guards (the ones in golden helmets and cloaks), and others are in the armies. There aren't any named distinctions for the roles, though the distinctions exist, mostly in clothing as household staff don't wear the helmets or cloaks. The Einherjar are armed servants, who are expected to protect the palace in a fight. They are distinct from servants such as stewards and servers who are not expected to fight. The 'servant' Agnar is a member of the Einherjar household staff, and his brother Geirroth has status somewhere inbetween a household guard and army. I think that they are of the age (coming into their 5000s) to be dying gloriously in battle. 
> 
> Mortality rates for Asgardians increase exponentially as they come of age. Infant mortality is almost zero. People only start dying off once they're old enough to fight. It escalates in the 5000s when men and women are at the height of their fighting abilities. Historically, both men and women chose to die in battle around this age, even if they were not explicitly trained for it, as it validates their religious beliefs.
> 
> There are two major reasons why Frigga supports Loki's rights. First: because Loki is closer to her emotionally, she can use that to her advantage to press her own interests, which is protecting the rights of Vanaheim and the Vanir (I think defending Vanaheim is in part what Asgard's armies are currently doing). Second: Asgard strictly follows the right of primogeniture, whereas on Vanaheim, siblings are afforded equal legal status/inheritance. Thus Lord Lothur and Lord Hoenir, as younger siblings are expected to support Odin and otherwise have no role higher than that of a royal advisor. In contrast, Frigga would have been a joint ruler with her brother had she not been sent to Asgard to seal the peace. 
> 
> Loki and Frigga are pragmatic in their scheming; there are realities to power that cannot be ignored.
> 
> Asgardians have different forms of brotherhood. Two are mentioned here, true brothers (same parents) and brothers-in-arms, fictive kinship developed by comraderie in battle. There are probably varying levels of half-brothers and other unmentioned forms. In the Asgardian sense, brotherhood is genderless; Thor would have also called Sif a brother-in-arms.
> 
> Since Thor told Bruce about his agreement with Loki, theoretically, Loki can tell Jane about his agreement with Thor. Bro code, man.


	13. Coda

“Are you all right?” Loki reached to steady Bruce, and Bruce shrugged him off even as he adjusted to the change in gravity.

“Fine, fine. I'm getting the hang of this.” Bruce looked at the smoldering ground, and stamped around here and there to put out the little fires that had sprung up in the wake of the Bifrost path. “Actually, here's a good question; how do I manage this sort of thing? How does Lopt? Why aren't I...well, dead, or the other guy? Aren't we traveling at...at least light-speed? Something like that?”

“Yes, at least.” Loki put his arm around Bruce, the silver-tipped hairs of his furred cloak ruffling in the winter wind. They began walking, their footsteps crunching through brittle blades of dead grass and the thin crust of ice that formed over patches of deep snow. “Not being Aesir, a mortal would die in the transfer. You personally, would probably be fine, though you probably wouldn't be very happy with the outcome.” Loki shrugged. “I use a rather complex spell that I designed ages ago, and I highly doubt most others, including my mother, can cast something that controls quite this many variables at once. It has a fairly limited range, but it can hold a stable field around me with controls for conditions such as gravity, oxygen levels, and...speaking of Lopt, where did your cat go?”

“Lopt? Oh, shit.” There was a moment of anxiety as Bruce realized Lopt was missing; looking around, he saw only the imprint of human footsteps in the snow, but then he realized where she must have gone and suddenly laughed.

“She's nesting in the hood of your cloak.” Bruce tugged the hood down slightly so he could see inside; Lopt was curled up in the furred hood, purring contentedly. He reached in and stroked her back, and she swatted at his fingers lazily, yawning. “Is it really okay to bring her here? Are there quarantine protocols on Vanaheim we need to follow? Import procedures?”

“No, she'll be all right. There are cats on Vanaheim too. Besides, I doubt she can kill anything in her current state of cuddling.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised.” Bruce smiled. “So what's with the getup? I've never seen you in something so...” He threw up his hands. “Fancy?”

“This isn't a hunting party. If you recall, this is a semi-official visit. Touring my holdings on Vanaheim.” Loki tossed back his head imperiously. “One must look the head of state, sometimes.” 

“Yeah? As opposed to wearing clothes as casual as possible while still being able to conduct official business?” Bruce teased. “I've seen you wear formal armour just once in the entire time I've been on Asgard, and you changed out of it the second you were able to; you wear it as little as humanly possible. Unlike the rest of us.”

“You're getting too good at being a courtier. I'm rather concerned.”

“I am capable of achieving basic competency at most anything, given practice,” Bruce gave him a wry look. “What did you expect?”

“Nothing less, I think.” Loki laughed. “Shall we?” He offered Bruce his elbow, and Bruce shook his head faintly, before linking arms companionably.

“Let me show you the estate, Bruce.”

 

“It's nice today. Not as cold as it was last time.” The gently rolling hills of the countryside were so very unlike the flat forested taiga where they had gone on the Wild Hunt. He guessed that it was perhaps early spring; the elusive, heady scent of flowers filled the air and looking for the source, Bruce caught glimpses of green peeking through the snow, and blue-black flowers unfurling their asymmetrical petals.

“It's been several weeks. And besides, we're on a different part of Vanaheim. Like Midgard, various seasons will differ depending on the hemisphere; we could easily have gone somewhere tropical. Let me show you around.” 

Loki walked him through what seemed like a large estate, skirting a wood-frame building surrounded by fields mostly gone fallow with winter, though there were some that were sprouting vigorously green. The Vanir didn't seem to believe in monocropping, Bruce thought; where the plants grew, it seemed as though there were a mix of different species, all in the same patch. The fields were demarcated by huge standing stones, some of them as large as small buildings, solitary monoliths with no obvious order to their arrangement and placement. Loki pointed out a splintered stone that had been cracked as if by a great force, apparently the work of a much younger Thor.

They walked through orchards that were haphazardly planted with a mix of strange trees and shrubs, most that Bruce didn't recognize, many budding with new leaves. One type of evergreen tree however, grew abundantly; birds fluttered through its branches and narrow green leaves, almost as needle-like as pines but broader, stealing fruit and fighting amongst themselves, squabbling loudly.

“Oh, these were the ones we've been having at dinner. I like these. What were they called again?”

“Winter huskfruits.” Loki walked about, considering various trees before tiptoeing up and snapping a bunch off a high branch for him.

“How do they manage to fruit in the winter like this?” Bruce peeled one and took a bite; it was icy cold and tartly sweet, surprisingly unfrozen. “Hydrophobic molecular structure?”

“The plant has a natural compound that keeps it from freezing. Most plants here have a high tolerance for temperature extremes. I believe there are animals on Midgard that have this nature.”

“Right.” Bruce looked at the fruit more carefully. “A lab would be nice right about now...” Bruce said to himself.

“Perhaps that can be arranged.”

“I'd like that.” Bruce wandered around the orchard, fruit in one hand, his other exploring the trunk of the tree. “This reminds me. 'The branches of Yggdrasil.' Is that a poetic metaphor for the Milky Way?”

“Yggdrasil is a path-connected constellation, but I suppose it could also be seen as a metaphor for what we consider are the important points of the galaxy. It's nowhere close to the entire galaxy, merely the vertices of the Nine Realms within it. Something you read?”

“No, though I have come across references to it. It was something your mother told me.” Bruce ran his fingertips over the rough-barked tree; a resinous scent clung to his fingers when he drew away. “She said you survived its branches. Was it with that spell you were using? The protective field?”

Loki didn't immediately answer him, heading away, walking slowly along the path of trampled black earth where clumps of snow clung in the shaded hollows.

Blue shadows stained the white snow.

“Can Aesir survive in outer space?” Bruce followed Loki.

“Yes, but not indefinitely. Far longer than Midgardians, but...” By the time Bruce caught up to Loki, he was looking up thoughtfully into the branches of the huskfruit tree. There, brown-mottled birds chattered, pecking at overripe ripe fruit, tearing at the papery husks with sharp beaks. 

“You managed.”

“Of course.” Loki turned to him with a smile, but it was stiff, artificial, and didn't quite make it to his eyes. “They make a wine from this fruit, you know. It's quite nice.”

“Yeah? Sounds good.” Bruce put his arms around Loki, drawing him close. “You all right?”

“Of course. I'm fine. Shall we go down to see the vineyard now? The apple orchard? Or would you like to go see the house?”

“Sorry, Loki. I didn't realize. Shouldn't have asked.” Bruce drew Loki's head down to his shoulder, stroking his dark hair.

“You couldn't have known.” Loki submitted to the embrace briefly, before straightening up, slipping out of Bruce's arms.

“No, I did. I just remembered too late. Sorry.” Bruce's hand closed lightly around the tips of Loki's long fingers. “Your mother said you won't tell anyone what happened there,” he ventured.

“In that, she is correct. I'm sorry, but I would rather not speak of those days. Not even you.” Loki stole a kiss, as if in apology. “It's a time I'd rather not revisit.”

“Sure. I get it. Well, how about those apple trees? Let's save the house for last.”

 

Flowering trees shed pale pink-stained petals with the slow sway of the wind, and Bruce found himself picking petals out of his hair, so thin and fragile they were almost insubstantial between his fingers. As they strolled through the orchard, the iron-gray sky slowly darkened and it began to snow. Unhurried, they made their way down through the ambling paths to the house. Past the hewn plinths, Bruce was surprised that the house was empty, not bustling with servants or guards. It was warm inside, pleasingly so, and he brushed snowflakes and flowers from his hair and shoulders.

Loki didn't bother, his clothing and hair dusted with snow, untouched by the fall of flowers. A tiny snowflake settled on his cheek, and Bruce brushed it aside when it didn't immediately melt away. 

Arching his eyebrow at Bruce, the snow disappeared from Loki between one step and the next. 

“So is this really an official visit? I haven't seen guards or servants or even someone to help you out of your cloak.”

“Really, it's semi-official. I'm fine keeping it on. And besides, Lopt is comfortable sleeping in the hood, and is that not what is important in life? For one's cat to be comfortable?”

“You got a point there.”

Lopt woke, presumably because they had stopped walking. With a yawn and the arched stretch of her back, she leapt out of the warm confines of the hood. 

“Speak of the devil.” Bruce knelt down to stroke her head, scratching her ears. “Is it okay to let her run around in here?” Lopt allowed him to pet her briefly, and then slinked out from under his fingers.

“It's fine.” 

“I'm just concerned she'll run off and...oh, there she goes.” Shaking his head, Bruce followed, through a long corridor that branched out into many rooms. He saw glimpses of a library, a kitchen, a comfortable receiving room, a strangely shaped and sunny room that looked to be planted all over with greenery, a grand stairwell that led upstairs... And then he paused in the doorway that Lopt entered, surprised, as Lopt, with a graceful leap, made her way onto the closed and covered keyboard of a piano. There she sat, licking fussily at a paw.

Curious, Bruce walked forward. He drew out the bench and sat down. It looked very similar to the upright that had been in his house. 

“Nah, it couldn't be.” But then curiosity got the better of him, and he briefly lifted the top board, peeking inside. There, the serial number. It was the same.

“Loki. Did you...kidnap the piano from my house?”

“To be fair, Thor did all the heavy lifting.” Loki sat down at his side, putting his arm around Bruce's shoulder. “After all, I believe I heard that your old home is off limits to the likes of me. Rather well-guarded these days. I suppose they think you might return.”

“How did Thor manage to...?”

“I think he had some help.” Loki smiled. “Well, are you going to play?”

“No, not yet. First...” Bruce set his fingers on key strip, a thin strip of wooden facing underneath the keys. “Let me check...” He gave it a sharp tug and pulled it off, exposing the mechanism of the keys. He set the key strip aside.

“Bruce, you are full of surprises...”

“Yeah, well. I'm pretty good at hiding.” Bruce leaned over, bending down to look into the far right-hand corner. “There's a little bit of space between C8 and the end of the piano, just a couple centimeters and...” Bruce sat back, surprised.

“What is it?”

He shook his head, and pulled two things out of the narrow space between the last key and the case of the piano, a tiny black memory card no bigger than his thumbnail, and a neatly folded piece of paper.

“Well, this is my research. All my papers and findings, including my dissertations and previous publications. Backups.” Bruce pocketed the chip in a little sleeve pocket built into his left vambrace. “Missing maybe the last month's worth of whatever I was working on, but good enough to go by.”

“And the other?”

“I don't know.” Bruce put on his glasses and unfolded the paper; it was a note, written on the back of a list of roughed out research ideas. 

_You think you know a guy, and then one day he goes missing (Again? Really?) but this time it turns out he's gone across to the other side of space without even sending a group text to his friends. Rude, Bruce. Incredibly rude. Made your babysitters worried. But Prince Pikachu went a-questing and found that you've been recruited by the All-Daddy to work on a top secret Asgardian space defense program. Not sure I believe that, but it's good knowing you haven't had your brain stolen and stuck into a jar owned by a super-intelligent gorilla or something equally plausible._

_In the meantime, I'm left cleaning up the mess, as usual. Been making sure your last papers are proofed and published. Even doing the revisions your reviewers want. Make it look like you earned your grant money instead of taking off to Galactic Tijuana on a year-long bender. Hope you don't mind but I made a copy of your oeuvre for my bedtime reading. High time I read the Bruce Banner back catalog. Also adding myself as co-author. You owe me one, buddy._

_-TS_

_P.S. I talked Hawkguy into cleaning the litterbox and doing the dishes. Forensic evidence, obvs._

And then scrawled on the bottom margin, almost an afterthought: 

_Miss you. Take care of yourself, big guy._

Bruce smiled a little to himself, turning the note over in his hands thoughtfully.

“Well?”

“Just a letter from a friend.” Just as Bruce was about to refold the note and put it away, he suddenly realized something and re-read the last line. “Son of a... he added himself as my co-author!” Bruce fumed. “At best, he deserves a thanks, or a mention in the footnotes.. It's a matter of principle! Typing up my work from notes and following up on revisions doesn't constitute enough work to deserve-” 

“Whatever you do, try not to get too upset,” Loki said dryly. “Shipping fees were rather expensive and while we could probably rebuild it, I doubt it would sound the same.”

“No, no. I'm all right.” Bruce took a deep breath and then smiled a little to himself; it was just like Tony to joke about something like that. He put the piano back in order, shooed Lopt off the piano, and pushed back the lid. Lightly, his fingers stroked the keys without touching them, and the pleasing scent of varnished wood, the gray afternoon sunlight coming through the windows, and Loki by his side gave him the sense of the past and present intersecting together pleasingly. He set his fingers to the keys, and began a little exercise by Czerny, something to warm up creaky unpracticed fingers.

 

Later, after Loki stepped out, Bruce opened up the piano bench, looking for copies of music stored within. He had run through most of the things he had memorized, and was looking for a piece that he had been working on, something he had meant to continue, but the book...

“Damnit, Tony, what did you--” The music book he was looking for had been shuffled into the stack of slim folios and upon finding it, Bruce found that it had been tampered with. Something had been stuck into it, and Bruce's mouth twisted briefly into a frown.

Carefully, he opened the book. Tucked inside was a thin sheet of metal and glass, and Bruce remembered seeing something like this among Stark's things, only not nearly so thin and light. Probably a prototype, a one-of-a-kind computer that Stark had made for himself, a tool or a toy. Checking the sides, Bruce found there was a slot compatible with his memory card; nothing less from Tony Stark, he thought.

He turned it on, and the first thing that appeared, before the operating system, was a video.

“Hey. So it's me.” The camera followed Tony around as he walked. Was this Stark Tower? No, it looked to be Stark's private home; it lacked the impersonal, cold aesthetic of his official work space. “Not live, obviously. Just a video. I made a few. They'll play whenever you start this up. Don't want you forgetting who your friends are.”

Bruce groaned, but he couldn't help but smile.

“Anyhow. I have a couple of surprises for you. One is that you don't need to depend on books if you don't want; I've pretty much loaded this baby with the contents of IMSLP and any other existing digitized piano literature. You can even play 4'33” if you want. Since daddy's paying for lessons, you had better practice.”

“Will do,” Bruce chuckled.

“The second is that booting up the OS automatically sent me a signal that should reach me back home. I don't know how long it'll take to receive it, but I guess I'll find out someday. It'll give me an idea of how far away you are.”

“I feel like there are more surprises,” Bruce said to himself.

“And there are more surprises to follow. In the meantime, you better write, big guy.” Tony winked at him, and the video closed.

Bruce held the tablet close to himself for a moment, trying to remember the last time he had seen Stark. It was months ago; Bruce had been in New York for a conference...

“Guess I wouldn't have been in this mess if I had just gone to CERN with Tony. Or better yet, took up that offer to live in Stark Tower.” Bruce turned off the tablet and tucked it away safely into the bench. But then those were foolish thoughts; despite some misadventure, he really couldn't find fault with his decisions. Even though there was that nearly stifling formality, even though there were customs that he sometimes struggled to adapt to, Bruce had found himself surprisingly happy on Asgard. and was looking forward to splitting his time between Asgard and Vanaheim.

What could have been did not mean quite as much as what had taken place.

Bruce realized he had lost track of Loki. It seemed that Loki had been gone for some time. Curious, Bruce wandered through the house, wondering where Loki could be. From a distance, he heard voices, and he headed toward the sound.

*****

“And of course, Mother sends her regards.”

“Tell her I do as well. I see you're wearing the cloak I sent you.” The second voice was deep and resonant, of a velvety quality.

“Thank you for the coronation present, uncle. It's quite lovely. I feel the envy of Asgard whenever I wear it.”

“Nothing too good for my sister's child.” 

Bruce paused in the doorway of the receiving room. Loki sat sprawled out on a comfortable chair, and in a similar chair beside him, sat another man, in an equally comfortable sprawl. Bruce blinked for a moment; in feature the two had little in common, but in substance and style, they were shockingly similar. Both were tall, slender, and elegant, dark-haired and pale-skinned, though the other man was older, with lines of age drawn about his mouth and eyes and his black hair grown out long, twisted into an elaborate braid. There was something in the man's face that also reminded Bruce of the queen, in the shape of his jaw and his blue-green eyes. 

Unlike the Asgardians, he wore no armour; his clothes were tailored neatly, but not as severely. His clothes were mostly in shades of greens, trimmed here and there with black. They looked comfortable; there was a flowing quality to them, and they had been constructed with the aesthetic of a pleasing asymmetry. There were hints, here and there, of Asgardian style too, but now seeing someone of the Vanir for himself, it made Bruce wonder if it was not the other way around.

He bowed. “Lord Freyr.”

As befit his station, the man made an slight motion of his hand, gesturing for Bruce to sit down.

“Dr. Banner. I've heard something of you.”

“News travels this far?” Bruce sat down, taking off his glasses and tucking them into the collar of his tunic.

“We in the court of Vanaheim are always excited to hear the latest gossip from the court of Asgard. I see you've taken residence as a royal favorite.” Freyr glanced between Bruce and Loki, as if gauging their interactions.

“Yeah. Something like that.” Bruce smiled politely, and then the two men returned to their conversation.

“I hear the Thief has been up to no good again. Despite being utterly incapacitated for what, two, three years now?”

“Uncle, it's not very polite to call my father that.” Loki's smile was brittle. “After all, he is still my father.”

“He'll always be a thief to me, at least privately. Let me have that.” Lord Freyr's pale eyes narrowed. “You would have been my son, if he hadn't started that idiotic war and taken my beloved from me.”

“Then I would be someone else. And not king of Asgard.” Loki waved it off; there was a very forced levity to his words. “But you were asking about father's faction? Well, there was a little scandal, a petty quarrel among some servants. Nothing to be bothered with, but what might interest you is that from what we've pieced together, years ago, Odin taught some of his trusted servants magic and spread them amongst the households of his supporters.”

“An old man's desperate ploy to rule forever. He really does not trust his sons, does he?” 

Loki darted Bruce a glance. “You're not terribly young yourself, with all due respect.”

“I am much less than half of the Thief's age. As is your mother, my twin, stolen by the old thief himself.”

“Ahem.”

The mild look Lord Freyr gave Loki was as though he were granting Loki the favor of changing the subject. “And what were his loyal servants doing?”

“Fomenting rebellion with their peers and kin. It's in the process of being weeded out, though it may be a messy process. That entire morass of sedition requires a delicate touch.”

“Like all statecraft, when done correctly. Good, I'm glad you have everything under control. Seems that you're thriving in your first...oh, is it already more than a year now?”

“I suppose it is. But Asgard is not what we're here for today.”

“Of course.” And here, the older man turned to Bruce, who blinked a little at the attention. “My nephew tells me you'll be splitting your time between Asgard and Vanaheim.”

“Yeah. Something like that, if it's all right with you, your Majesty.”

“Bruce finds that life at the royal court of Asgard doesn't completely agree with him. I suppose it's not for everyone.”

“You can say that again.” Bruce shook his head a little. “It's not bad, but I spent the last several years living alone...it's hard to adjust. And there's not much in the way of big spaces in Asgard. I miss the outdoors. Mostly plants, if you can believe it.”

“Certainly it takes no small amount of fortitude to survive the tedium of the Asgardian court, from what I've heard.” Lord Freyr looked disgusted. “I doubt I could thrive for long without seeing the land that is our Mother and our Father. Has Loki told you much about the estate?”

“No.”

“Then he's given me the pleasure of expositing,” Lord Freyr smiled, leaning forward. “This is the heartland of Vanaheim. Here is our traditional ancestral lands. By right and inheritance, these lands are the inheritance of my sister, and thus belong in turn to her children. This particular farm is rather small, and was always her favorite.”

“About the size of, say, a small state. Like one of your 'Maines',” Loki interjected. 

“Wow, that's pretty big for a farm. Really? That big? How is it worked?”

“Worked? I suppose magic helps in the harvest. Otherwise it's used on a need-based system.” 

“I'm not sure what that means?”

“The plants are harvested on account of need; there is more than enough for everyone here, including the wild animals. Everything that grows was guided by our ancestors into what can be seen today. Very little is specifically planted, though I suppose that does happen here and there. Mostly done by children at play,” Lord Freyr made a skeptical quirk of his eyebrow, as if to suggest that was not exactly something that was acceptable practice. “We take what we need, and the rest is eaten by the birds of the forests or the beasts of the fields.”

“So the fields that are fallow...?”

“Are seeded by the plants that died the year before. We eat according to what is available, and some of the excess is sent around the country in trade. Or off-world in tribute. Fortunately, our tribute load is not as high as it could be; neither Asgard nor Vanaheim have particularly large populations after the war.”

“Must have been some war.”

“Best not to speak of it.” Lord Freyr's mouth tightened and there on his face were the lines of bitterness and regret, lines that spoke of suffering and mourning. “Many lives were lost. It is good that we have made a lasting peace as Aesir; no longer do the two greatest realms of the Nine Realms quarrel. But that is not what you came here to discuss...”

“Oh, um,” and thinking fast, Bruce changed the topic, “I was wondering who the neighbors are?”

“A day's walk toward the river there is a small settlement, though in the other direction toward the sea, it is uninhabited. We don't come together as much as much as the old customs dictate, as the people are fewer and further in between. However, in time, people may pass through to collect the harvest or bring you some foodstuff for trade. Of course, they may stay a few days on the land and stop by your household. Try not to be alarmed.” And the way Lord Freyr had said it made Bruce cringe a little. It was obvious that Loki had briefed him on the other guy. However, the king seemed completely nonplussed, and that made the old anxiety seem almost tolerable, realizing that there really was no secret to be kept anymore, and no stigma attached to his condition.

It felt oddly like ease, to not have people afraid of him.

“Sure. I won't be.”

“Of course you're welcome to the fruits of the field. There are existing stores in the house, I'm told, so you'll both be able to use it and I believe you're expected to add to it over time. I suppose there is some work to do around the house; you'll have to ask someone who knows. There's probably a book on it around here somewhere,” Lord Freyr waved it off, disinterested in the niceties of maintaining a household.

“Thank you. I don't know if there's anything I can help you with...”

“Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something,” Lord Freyr smiled, and there was a boyish wickedness to it that was both charming and a little sinister.

“Don't let him drag you into politics,” Loki said dryly, catching Bruce's eye. “He'll probably try to use you to influence my decisions on Vanaheim.” Loki turned to address Lord Freyr, “But please, don't try to use Bruce, uncle. Mother already pressures me enough over such affairs.”

“I will do as I see fit, to protect my people. After all, energy weapons would prevent bandits from even landing on the planet. We currently have no way of stopping their ships. Or if we would be allowed to rebuild our planetary shielding...”

“Which is why Asgard has increased its military presence in the region,” Loki said coolly. 

“Increased presence is not barrier enough when ships come through and lay waste to the land and people.”

“Lord Vanaheim, may I remind you that this is not the time for official business? Court restarts in eight day's time, and any legitimate business can be brought to my attention then.”

There was a tense moment as the men glared at each other, and then suddenly, Lord Freyr laughed. “Oh, Loki...when you are like this, it reminds me so much of your mother when she was young. I can see her in you...” His smile was wistful. “Few people then, as now, dared to contradict me so directly. Lord Asgard, I ask your pardon and will properly send you an ambassador with a petition when the time is right.”

Loki waved it off. “No worries, uncle. You've never been to Asgard, have you?”

“As much as it would be a pleasure to see my only sister in the flesh...it would be unseemly. There are protocols, of course.” 

“I understand. At least there are ways to communicate.”

“Yes, but it is rather rare that we speak.” Lord Freyr's eyes were melancholy. “We decided a long time ago that it would be less painful for both of us that way. Though...I do remember the first time she showed you to me. A child in her arms, grasping a lock of her hair tightly...”

“Yes, you've told me this before.”

“And you and your brother. You spent summers here sometimes, when you were young.”

“This very house.”

“It's definitely undergone repair. Your brother was rather ungentle with the furnishings.”

“Asgardian things are built more sturdily.”

“Meaning, Asgardians have a far heavier hand. No matter. The past is the past.” Lord Freyr stood, and at that, Bruce found himself scrambling to his feet. Loki stayed where he was.

“Though it grieves me to go, I have affairs on other parts of the land. It was a pleasure seeing you again, nephew, and I bid you to send your mother a kiss from me. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

“Of course, Lord Vanaheim.”

“Come see me more often, Lord Asgard. Now that we are both kings we can discuss statecraft more readily.” Between one step and the next, Lord Freyr was gone.

“Magic. Why am I not surprised? Do people just normally show up in other people's homes like that?”

“No, they normally knock.”

“Then why didn't you? Back at my house in New Mexico.”

“Knock? Because it wasn't as fun to surprise you otherwise.” By habit, Loki gestured for Bruce to sit, and Bruce smiled a little to himself as he came over and sat in the chair that Lord Freyr had vacated. “Now you've met almost all my living uncles.”

“What about Lord Hoenir?”

“What about him?” Loki shrugged. “I assume he lives somewhere on one of these estates. He's not particularly notable or significant. Rather a dull man, to be honest.”

“Doesn't Vanaheim have a capital? A court?”

“Vanaheim is a land without cities. Lord Freyr is the court. He wanders as he sees fit, and dispenses justice as he sees fit. In very ancient times, I am told, this was accomplished by means of an oxcart, but his magic works better for him.”

“No guards? No servants?”

“He needs none; the entirety of the population function as those.”

“What about his wife? I mean, I'm assuming he's married.”

“Of course. To a frost giant, if you can believe it. A treaty marriage with a child of Laufey that helped end the war with Jotunheim. Lady Geror lives on an estate in the far north with their children. I think he spends about half the year there with them.”

“Interesting. What about the rest of the time?”

“Lord Freyr lives as a guest of the land; wherever he goes, hospitality is never denied him. Thus, it's important to remember that anyone who comes by should be housed and fed as an honored guest. Lord Freyr, like his ancestors before him, likes to go about the countryside in disguise.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. He once spent the summer with us disguised as a flaxen-haired girl child our age. It was very awkward for a certain brother of mine.”

“Um.”

“Nothing as perverse as what you may be thinking, Bruce. It was more like my brother's unrequited crush.” Loki grinned. “I knew almost right away it was Lord Freyr, but he asked me to keep it a secret.”

“What was the point of that?”

“I think he wanted to know us better, as future rulers of Asgard. After all, what Asgard decides determines the lives of everyone on this planet.”

“The war.”

“Among other things. Before he gets to you too, do try to understand there are reasons to keep Vanaheim relatively unarmed. Most of them being our dependence on Vanaheim for food. Were they to blockade us as they did before the war, our people would likely starve. The other realms are not as conducive to agriculture as Vanaheim.”

“But wasn't Odin the aggressor?”

“Yes and no. Like any other cause of war, it was complicated and the reasons myriad.” Loki sighed. “I can't stay too long, Bruce. I have an appointment in the hour with the treasurer.”

“I know.” Bruce smiled. “Thanks for all this. Letting me stay here. The piano...” Leaning over, he kissed Loki, the edges of his armour pressing sharply against him as he leaned against the arm of the chair.

“Of course. It helps me too. You can be something of a distraction, when I'm busy.” Loki made a little helpless gesture. “And here, I don't have to worry about your safety. Though disarmed, the heart of Vanaheim is still too formidable a foe for marauders to consider.”

“I'm going to say the answer is magic?”

“Seidr is a strong weapon when it is practiced and passed down through the generations. You could take it up if you were inclined. It has more to do with accepting and controlling the fourth-dimensional part of yourself than a blanket term such as magic, though that's a good way of explaining it to those who don't understand. Makes it sound more mysterious.”

“Um. I think I'll read up on it before making any decisions.”

“There are no written texts,” Loki said, taking Bruce's hand, holding it lightly between his. “It is purely an oral tradition.”

“Then maybe I'll research and write the book.”

“Perhaps that may not be a bad idea, though I doubt anyone would tell you the truth of any of the craft. Everyone comes to it by a different path, and spells are tailored to the individual. Even were I to learn a specific spell from my mother and could create the same outcome, the means by which the outcome is drawn is different; my path and hers will not be exactly the same.”

“Interesting. Though on second thought, it's probably better I don't try to find any other selves inside of me or projected from me.” Bruce managed a weak smile. “It doesn't generally have good outcomes, and hell, a Hulk that can do magic sounds like a really, really bad idea.”

“Please, you can barely do grammar when you're the other guy. I trust you would be fine.”

“Hey, you don't know what's going on in my head when I'm...”

“Neither do you, for the most part.”

“All right, all right. Point taken. You better get going before you're late and make everyone think that you're up to no good again.” 

“Yes, of course. Before I go, however...there is something I meant to give you.”

“I don't really think you have much time for that, and I'm guessing the bedroom's upstairs if that's what you're talking about.”

“Ha, Bruce. No, there certainly is not enough time for _that_.” Loki laughed. “No, it's something else. A token to show you that I am certainly not exiling you from court or that you are out of my favor.”

“I didn't think that I was being exiled, but now that you say it, should I be worried?”

“This is not a 'break up' if that's what you were concerned about. More like an acknowledgment that we have different needs and that I am respecting your need for solitude and an outdoors that involves living plants.”

“Right. We talked about this. So...?”

“So.” And here, Loki plucked something out of the air and handed it to Bruce.

Bruce looked at his hand. The cold slither of an electrum chain flowed in his palm and the pendant that hung from it was set in the same metal: a smooth, asymmetrical stone that glowed faintly with an inner fire, the metal backing etched with stylized runes.

“This is pretty. And I recognize the material. It's holding a charged spell?”

“It holds a spell that will create a field around you when you want to use the Bifrost; that allows you to come and go as you please. I do prefer it if you asked Heimdall only for travel between Asgard and Vanaheim, though I won't stop you if you are inclined to go elsewhere. The other realms are rather dangerous, and I'm not sure I'd get you back if you went to Midgard.”

“I wasn't planning on going back to Earth.”

“And it holds another spell that allows you to communicate with me directly, as I have in the past with you. Of course, only intention is necessary to make the spell work. That, and in the case of the latter, a fire, such as in a brazier or equivalent.”

“Got it.” Bruce slipped the necklace on over his head, and tucked it in his clothes; nothing showed, but for a little touch of cold against the skin of his chest that quickly faded. “Thank you, Loki. I wish I had something for you. You've...given me a lot.”

“Think nothing of it. Rather, if you're concerned, think of it as recompense.”

“For what?”

“Years ago, a part of me fell to earth. You took me in when you could have saved yourself the trouble and cast me into the hands of my enemies. You tended my wounds, fed me, clothed me...”

“Oh, that? I would have done that for anyone. Most anyone.”

“Perhaps. Those were dark and lonely times for me. But for your friendship, I think that...” Loki shook his head faintly, momentarily unable to speak, before looking up to meet Bruce's eyes. “It means much to me that you always loved me, even when I was a fugitive with no standing.”

“How did you know that? That I loved you. I wasn't even sure of it myself until recently.”

“Just because you couldn't say it doesn't make it not true. I saw it in your eyes. When I was dying.”

“Loki, please, don't remind me of that.” Bruce sighed. “That was a mean trick. I almost turned into the other guy.”

“But you didn't.” Loki kissed him. “I'm sorry, Bruce. I didn't know how mean of a trick it was until it was too late.”

“It's...okay. It was a long time ago. At least...you're okay.” Bruce remembered how strange it was to touch Loki's long, cold fingertips, the shock of that first encounter with the real Loki, that charming, radiant stranger whose very existence implied a dangerous, barely contained power. 

“Of course.” Loki kissed him, lingeringly, and it sent little shocks of pleasure through Bruce's body, down his spine and through to his toes.

“With that...” Loki smiled. “I had best go before I forget my duties.”

“See you soon.”

*****

**Vanaheim: Summer**

Spring turned into summer, and with it came all the fruits of the field. There was no season that didn't seem like a time of plenty on Vanaheim, but summer was particularly fecund; the trees were laden with ripening fruit, bees buzzed about through fields of flowers, and herds of massive, shaggy deer grazed on plants that drooped from the weight of growing vegetables. The estate was within walking distance of the ocean and proximity tempered the weather; generally it was neither hot nor cold, though there were some deliciously warm days and cool evenings.

The days when there were no official duties, Bruce spent with Loki on Asgard. Loki's workload was minutely lower, now that most of the army had returned to Asgard. Campaigns to protect the borders of Vanaheim had concluded for the season, though what was defined as a season was not so very clear to Bruce. In the meantime Bruce had met various generals and war leaders, including the other members of the Warriors Three, Hogun and Volstagg, who were scrupulously and cautiously polite. Bruce liked them; they reminded him of various colleagues he had worked with over the years, talented individuals with a common cause and focus that remained at the core of their work.

His studies progressed; he had students now on both Asgard and Vanaheim that would come by for instruction, sometimes for a few days, curious about the methodology of proof and conjecture that was the academic standard on Earth but mostly unknown to the Aesir, who had their own methods, most of them hinging on the honor of the author more so than his methodology. In return they taught him what they knew, and Bruce was starting to see that Loki was right; there were definitely fourth-dimensional aspects of seidr that made the physics make sense.

As promised, Loki had set Bruce up with a computer; this on Asgard was an actual person, a woman who helped him design algorithms to interface Asgard's computational datastructures with the questions he had in mind. It was a clever combination of a friendly user interface and Asgard's physical computers that had great computing power and ability, but no accessibility for a non-specialist. Beyond being the interface, the woman he worked with was clever and talented; she had developed her own deterministic method that could identify prime numbers so large that they were probably government secrets back home. They had already solved two simple conjectures that had been posited by Asgardian scholars and hoped to prove more.

Bruce considered his project list as sunlight glinted off the ocean and he trudged through the sand. Tiny purple flowers bloomed from soft waxy-petaled plants nestled in the dunes. Small iridescent flightless birds dove into the waves, fishing for invertebrates and mollusks. The air was full of the cries of seabirds and offshore, he could see the dark shapes of great unknown beasts prowling the deep water. Clear turquoise water rippling and foaming onto the soft sandy shore lapped at his bare feet and shielding his eyes from the sun, Bruce glanced up at the clear blue sky and wondered how much longer it would be until Loki arrived.

He didn't have to wait long. Loki's appearance was like that of a thunderbolt, the Bifrost burning itself onto a bare patch of sand, a common place for the Bifrost to set its passengers down, so that little grew there. Not that scars on the planet showed for long; wherever a person might try to place their mark on Vanaheim, eventually plants would overwhelm it. He had seen it himself; wooden buildings collapsed into nothing more than vegetated mounds, homes that had lost their inhabitants during the war with Asgard. What had been called a farm was more of an administrative unit, and wandering the countryside, Bruce had found the remains of households that had been close to the estate he lived on, but all had been abandoned centuries before, their occupants since moved or dead.

“Hey there.” Bruce waved. “You're just in time. Ten minutes longer and your lunch would be cold. Well, lukewarm.”

“Good.” Loki came over to greet him with an embrace and a firm kiss. Today Loki had forgone the trappings of the Asgardian court, and was wearing simple clothes in the style of the Vanir, the kind of clothing that the Asgardian nobility sometimes wore when they went out in disguise to revel among the people of the town. Bruce himself wore the armoured court outfit only as necessary on Asgard; here on Vanaheim, the asymmetrically designed tunics and trousers that were the fashion suited him in their comfort and functionality.

“Is this a disguise? Are you going to pull a Lord Freyr on someone?” Bruce joked.

“Completely unofficial visit,” Loki winked, and they made their way up out off the beach onto a grassy bluff where they had lunch under the sprawling shade of a tree, settling in the soft grass amongst its roots.

“Has he been by to visit?” Loki accepted the lacquered wooden box and settled down to eat. Today it was some kind of stew of vegetables: mushrooms, beans, and squash, topped with poached eggs and sprinkled with shredded cheese. 

“We spent two weeks together recently. And he comes by once in a while. He brought me a good piece of cheese last time, and I baked him a fruit pie.”

Loki paused, looking warily at him. “Has he...”

“Oh yeah. He asked me to ask you about the energy weapons again. He's willing to negotiate down; he said it doesn't have to be as dangerous as the Bifrost. Just something that can shoot a ship out of low orbit. He said that if you're not allowing them to shield the planet, you might as well throw them a bone. That's paraphrased, by the way.” 

“Ha, that old thing? No, I thought...never mind.”

“Did you think...”

“I'm sorry, it's nothing. Please ignore it.”

“Come on.”

“Let's just say he has a reputation for...ah, 'sowing his seed'. In many fields.” Loki caught Bruce's eye. 

Bruce blinked as the insinuation settled into understanding. “Loki, I wouldn't worry about that.” Bruce took a bite of his lunch, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. “Not my type.”

“Then what's your type? What do you find attractive?”

“Oh, I don't know. Does anyone really have a type? Um. Dark hair. Pale skin. Smart.” Bruce shrugged. 

“You're not helping your cause.”

“Believe me, I'm not interested. And neither is he.” 

“Merely teasing you, Bruce.” Loki smiled. “He is far too old for you.”

“So are you. And I'm too old for you.”

“And too young at the same time. Ah, the relativity of age. Well, someday I'll catch up to you. Or you to me. One or the other.”

“I don't think it works like that, Loki.”

“One word: Superposition.”

“No quantum physics dressed up as magic at lunch. We talked about this.”

“As if I would forget my vows,” Loki laughed.

*****

Twilight, and they had climbed up onto a platform on the roof that Bruce didn't even know existed; it was accessed through a hidden panel in a wall that Bruce had never given a second glance at. As dusk settled, the birds called to each other, settling in for the night, and the sky darkened slowly, the blue dusk growing deeper as the fading crimson sunset disappeared beyond the sea. The night air was warm, and the sweet scents of the sun-baked flowers and herbs of the field rose off the land and with every breath, Bruce wished he could breathe in more of it.

“In the summer about this time, there is a festival,” Loki explained as he spread out a woven blanket on the wooden porch. Bruce walked over to the other side and straightened it out, before sitting down.

“What kind of festival?”

“You'll see. Lie down.”

 

As night fell the darkness intensified; it was nothing like the nights on Asgard that seemed to never grow truly dark, lit brightly by stars. Tonight seemed even darker than the darkest nights on Earth. Of the moons in the sky, only one was visible tonight, a tiny blueish orb that glowed like a pale pearl set in blackness, a dot of a unit circle. Stars glittered and rotated over the visible plane of the night sky forming strange constellations, and Bruce sometimes wondered if he could see Earth's sun somewhere in that spread of stars. Here there was no Milky Way visible, so their position in the galaxy must be different. But then...

“Look.” Loki's voice was soft against his ear, and above, the bright flare of a meteor as it sliced through the atmosphere briefly lit up the night sky.

“Oh.” And there was no more to be said after that; fiery streaks lit up the sky, sometimes to the point as being almost as bright as daylight. It took a moment to notice, but then Bruce scrambled up to a sitting position. There in the distance, toward the river, were sparks and bursts that were coming from the ground, like a fireworks display, with a multitude of iridescent colors and flashing light.

“What's going on down there?” Bruce pointed, alarmed. “Isn't there a village that way?”

“Oh yes. That's how they celebrate.”

“Oh! Is that...fireworks? “ Bruce paused. “No wait, spells?”

“Yes. The best spells conserve energy neatly so that there is no excess heat or light that is emitted. But then, there are uses for spells that are not quite so conservative in their energy output. Sometimes they're mistakes. Sometimes they're failures. But on a night like this, those are celebrated.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because no one learns from success half as well as from failure.” Loki sat up and raised his hand. “At least, that is what the Vanir say.” And with that, he opened his hand, and a bolt of bright green light sizzled up into the sky.

“Shooting up your mistakes into the sky. I like that.” Bruce smiled to himself. “I wish I could have done that with some of my undergraduate work.”

“Not all mistakes are failures, Bruce. After all, a mistake brought me to you.” Loki slipped his arm around Bruce's waist, and Bruce found himself with his arm around Loki's shoulders, pressed close, and for a moment it felt strange, until he realized that it was because Loki was not wearing any armour. For the first time since he had come with Loki across to the other side of the galaxy, neither of them were wearing armour, and Bruce laughed a little to himself when he realized that was the source of the odd sensation.

“What's so funny?”

“You should wear stuff like this more often,” Bruce said. “I don't think I've been this close to you in...well, ever.”

“You're not counting sex.”

“No, I'm not counting that. I mean...like this. Without all the court getup. All the vambraces and pauldrons and the cuirasses. Just you and me and no pointy edges in-between.”

“Perhaps you're right. I do like this.” Loki turned his head to steal a kiss, but then Bruce met him halfway, sighing against those cool lips, that clever mouth that made even a simple kiss a function of pure desire, sending shivers through his spine.

Bruce drew back and caught his breath. “So what's it like down there? In the village. You think it's worth going for a look?”

“It's quite a sight. My brother and I snuck down to one of these festivals once, a long time ago. There is of course much feasting and drinking, but by now, it's all magic, when those that study seidr show off a little. After all, there are some mistakes that are so spectacular that they must be trotted out for edification.”

“Should we?”

“It's a long walk. It'd be over by the time we got there.”

“You said you can transport us by magic, right?”

“I suppose I could. It's not too far...”

“Well, why not? Let's go. I want to see what they're up to. Ask some questions about seidr.”

“Are you sure? I thought you weren't up for all this magic stuff.”

“Sure, I'm sure. I trust you.”

It was too dark to see what Loki's expression was, but there was a little pause before Loki spoke again. “O-of course. Just...we should stand up first and, here, take my hands. Or better yet...” 

Loki drew Bruce close, his arms around Bruce's waist, and Bruce put his arms around Loki. He took a deep breath, taking in Loki's scent. That smell, the sweetness of dried herbs and flowers that had clung to Loki's clothing, the closet full of his childhood clothes... and Bruce realized that it was the scent of summertime in Vanaheim.

“So that's what it was...” Bruce breathed, and just then, Loki's arms tightened around him, and they were off, gone between one breath and the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A note I forgot to include in the last chapter_ :
> 
> The choice of Bruce being unable to father children is alluded to toward the end of The Fylgja, and there are hints of it in the earlier chapters of the Konungr (way before the movie was out). I'm almost annoyed that it showed up in the second Avengers movie, because I didn't like how it was presented there. In this case, Bruce's choice against having a family is not just on account of his exposure to radiation, but also because of his abusive father; he's afraid he can't be a good father because of his past. 
> 
> _Notes_ :
> 
> Czerny is a major figure in piano pedagogy. IMSLP is a sheet music database. 4'33" is a famously silent piece by John Cage. 
> 
> Elements of kingship on Vanaheim are based loosely on the Merovingian dynasty.
> 
> The reason why many of the fruits and vegetables are the same on Earth and Vanaheim was that some things were adopted from Earth to Vanaheim. Including cats, elk, and deer. Originally Bruce and Loki's lunch had tomatoes in it, but I decided to keep the vegetables pre-Columbian, as there had been no major trade interaction with the New World during the time of the war with Jotunheim.
> 
> Loki and Thor were probably sent to Vanaheim to stay out of trouble, as they were probably not old enough to join in the war with Jotunheim, but were old enough to want to be involved.
> 
> Yes, those are rainbow-colored penguins.
> 
> For those interested, I posted a [chart of my notes on Asgard/Vanaheim](http://evilasiangenius.tumblr.com/post/122429475214/this-might-be-a-new-low-notes-from-my-writing) on Tumblr.
> 
> As Bruce said, this relationship doesn't fix anything in their lives. Loki will still be troubled by his past, and though Bruce is settling down more comfortably, he'll still have the scars of his past. In this story, I aimed for something more like realism, with problems that are toned down greatly from general superhero stories. 
> 
> Bruce being kidnapped (twice? popular guy!) is supposed to show how he manages his life and his relationships; the first time, he literally does not need anyone's help to get away. He is completely independent and almost sees Loki as an interloper when Loki comes to rescue him. He depends on no one but himself, and solves his own problems.
> 
> The second time, when he's being used as a pawn in Asgardian politics, he comes to realize that he does need the support of his friends. Some problems are too big for an individual to handle. Even as Bruce tries to push people away and argue that he doesn't need anyone, he slowly realizes he has to reach out to those who are reaching out to him. Of course, here, Loki helped, though not directly. Generally it's about the two helping each other, in what ways they can, though that help can't solve everything.
> 
>  _Notes from my writing file_ : 
> 
> Lopt is in a state of purr-fection. HRRRR
> 
> The problem comes from Odin's faction, who seeks to force Thor into accepting the throne. The guard/servant rebellion is pushed by followers of Odin, who suspect that he's being kept out of the way, or actually done by Odin himself who is not as incapacitated as he is thought to be, but actually just really old and no longer fit to serve as king. 
> 
> Hogun is the sword that fights on its own, and can be wielded by the wise.
> 
> Geror is the ice giant wife from Jotunheim. This was part of the alliance to end the wars, as Thor and Loki were way too young to be married. Geror is a daughter of Laufey. Lord Freyr only accepted the marriage because he realized that it would make his children cousins to Loki, which in some weird way makes him closer to Frigga in a way. 
> 
> Lord Freyr probably fought as an ally in the war with Jotunheim. Perhaps he is really Loki's father, via switching himself for Laufey with Odin, and then switching himself for Odin with Laufey. Tricksters run in the family (on both sides!).
> 
>  _Behind the scenes/Thanks_ : 
> 
> Wingsmadeoftin suggested that the villain behind Bruce's kidnapping was Lopt: "Angry at being left behind, the cat has taken over Midgard. Also she's taken a dump on the carpet."
> 
> Thanks to Wingsmadeoftin for early editorial advice, and thanks to both Wingsmadeoftin and Nami for patience, friendship, and support throughout the writing process. A big thank you to those people who read and commented; many of the comments gave me ideas for improving aspects of this story. Thank you all, and I hope you enjoyed my story. 
> 
> Following this chapter will be a short cut scene and a short story about Frigga.


	14. Cut Scene from Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have about 17 pages of cut lines and scene snippets of The Konungr, which also spilled over into a multipage Notepad file of running notes. This was originally intended to be a scene of the post-hunt party after Bruce comes back from talking to Frigga at the end of chapter 6, but it didn't fit. The only part that was kept was a brief mention at the beginning of chapter 7 to Lord Lothur's and Bruce's discussion.
> 
> I really liked this scene, even though I couldn't use it, so I'm including it here.

By the time Bruce returned to the party, Loki was a little drunk, and drew Bruce in his arms as he sat down.

“Oh Bruce, you're back. I missed you terribly,” Loki joked, with a touch of feigned melodrama.

“Yeah. Me too. Sad and lonely without you.” Bruce settled down, easing an arm around Loki's waist companionably. “Having fun?”

“On and off like any party,” Loki whispered in his ear. “Of course, that's changed now that you're here.”

“I'll strive to be amusing,” Bruce said, nodding politely to some people who had wandered by to give their regards.

“I'll hold you to that,” Loki teased. “Care for a drink?” Casually, he passed Bruce a silver-encased goblet, and Bruce took a small experimental sip; it was as though someone had taken the essence of fire and distilled into a smoky liquid.

“That's strong stuff.”

“It's delicious stuff, is what you mean.” Loki took it back and had another sip before handing it back to Bruce.

“You know I don't really drink.”

“I know. I don't expect you to. But it keeps the appearance of festivity when you pretend to drink with me,” Loki smiled.

“Well then, I had better continue.” Bruce took another sip, even tinier than the first, before handing the cup back to Loki. “Is public drunkenness an issue here?”

“Not really. Unless you damage the palace or break a guard's arm or something silly like that.”

“Then I have an idea...unless.”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you want to stay.”

“I don't mind either way, but it would be bad form to leave too early. What do you propose?”

“Well, we have this custom on Earth called the 'after party.'” Bruce leaned against Loki's shoulder, speaking in a low voice that only Loki could hear.

“Oh? Do tell.” Loki lowered his voice as well.

“It's the party after the party. Like a private party...”

“How private?”

Bruce met Loki's eye. “As private as you'd like it to be.” 

“I think I'd be interested in this. Shall we invite Sif and Fandral?”

“I'm not sure what kind of party you think this is...”

Loki laughed, throwing his head back, revealing the long, pale column of his throat. “No, no. Not like that. For drinks. Oh, Bruce...” He laughed until he was gasping for breath and Bruce couldn't help but laugh too; it was infectious.

“So I do like spending time with your friends, but maybe not this time. How about just you and me?”

“Oh, I think I would like that a lot. Proposals on how we get out of here without offending the court?”

“Maybe I can't hold my drink so well. Maybe it's been a long day for me.” Bruce settled against Loki's shoulder and yawned, quite genuinely, realizing that now that the adrenaline of the day was wearing off, he was exhausted. “Maybe I'm going to take a nap right here.”

“Mmm. You're going to let me carry you back?”

“Fireman-carry, please. I'd like to keep some of my dignity.”

“Well, that can be arranged.”

“I was kidding. Kidding! I'll just stagger out and you can come along to help. Make sure I get to bed okay.”

“You'll have to drink more if that's the case. We'll have to stay a little longer.” 

“I'll do my best.” Bruce took the glass and had what looked like a long drink before passing it back to Loki, who took a long sip himself.

In the end longer, almost until the very end of the party; Bruce ended up in a long and spirited discussion about mechanics with Lord Lothur.

**Author's Note:**

> Konungr is an old Norse term for king. This series is essentially an AU that veers into its own thing after the end of the first Avengers movie. Much thanks goes to WingsMadeofTin for prereading and insightful input.
> 
> Chapter 7, The Sváss, starts a new story arc, making this two stories in one.


End file.
